


The Mojave United

by Euryd1ce



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: #Grapefruit, #lemon, Adult Content, Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Angst, Author Is Sleep Deprived, BDSM, Bisexuality, Canon-Typical Misogyny, Canon-Typical Racism, Canon-Typical Violence, Dom/sub, Drama, Drug Use, Espionage, Extramarital Affairs, F/F, F/M, Heterosexuality, Homosexuality, Humiliation, M/M, Master/Slave, Medicinal Drug Use, Multi, Naughty language, Non-Consensual, Nudity, Or is going to, Oral Sex, Orgasms, Other, Ownership, Politics, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Power Play, Pregnancy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Rough Sex, Sex, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, There are a lot of tags I know but well a lot happens, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Underage Drinking, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-04 16:26:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 88,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12774891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euryd1ce/pseuds/Euryd1ce
Summary: At the culmination of the NCR and the Legion's seemingly interminable war, one plucky team of survivors has a daring plan to create a free and independent New Vegas once and for all. Can they unite all the tribes of Nevada before Caesar sends his Legate to wipe them  out?





	1. THE PROLOGUE WHEREIN an Idea is hatched, Veronica opens the mail, and Six decides to learn Latin.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! If you are new to my story and you just want to get on with the action, welcome! This is going to be fun, I promise. Don't let me get in your way.
> 
> Chapter 18, the most current chapter as of this note, is the penultimate chapter of Act 1 and as such, I am performing one last major, sweeping edit to the story. When Act II begins, I will NOT make any more changes to the first Act no matter how egregious the spelling errors I find, or face-palming errors in plot. This one has to *count*. Overall, I think you can expect big, medium, and small scale changes that don't really affect the trajectory of events, but might clean up some confusion. ((Esp. ch 1. First chap, worst chap, amirite?))
> 
> This work has been one, long learning project for me. I have had to strap on my Big Author Boots and wade in the deep end. I can tell you that it's been equal parts fulfilling and frustrating on my end yet... I think the work is paying off. Thank you for tuning in. I deeply appreciate every last reader who has toughed out this monstrosity and kept me going with Kudos and Comments. Thank you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courier Six attempts to convince her companions that a bizarre diplomatic tour will cause the disparate tribes of New Vegas to become motivated to work together long enough to form a stable government. This is motivated by a mysterious correspondence.

“You’re going to do _what!?_ ”

 

“It’s not a perfect plan, I admit…”

 

“Not a perfect plan?? You want to make the entire population of New Vegas AND Nevada cooperate by _sleeping with them?_ ”

 

“Not exactly... Look, I’ve explained this badly. Let me start over and see where I lost you. Okay, everyone? Okay, Cass?”

 

Rose of Sharon Cassidy decides to hold back whatever comment was going to follow and directs it to her glass of whiskey instead. The Lucky 38 breathes a sigh of relief. Today, on the first crisp autumn morning of the year, Courier Six and her friends are in the cocktail lounge, discussing their future. It's an important meeting, the lure of an open bar was more convincing to some than the work she promised. Either way, they're all here now and relatively sober, though that's in danger of becoming a false statement sooner rather than later. Six herself, trying to keep a clear head, accepts a glass of tonic water from Jane, a securitron with a blonde woman’s face on its screen. Jane rolls away to deliver the remaining fresh drinks.

 

"Thank you, Jane!" says everyone, more or less together.

 

"You're welcome, darlings!" she replies, an edge of metallic buzz in her voice box.

 

Six sets down her glass on a nearby table and gestures to a map clipped to a whiteboard. “The problem with Nevada is that all of its people are _tribal._ ”  “It’s been that way for decades; long enough for each and every family to become entrenched in their ways. Sure, Mr. House's reputation held it together for a while but now that he's gone, there’s no incentive for the groups on the Strip to 'play nicely' together anymore. Not with themselves, not with each other, and certainly not with anyone outside the wall."

 

"We could _absolutely_ set ourselves up as the next Mr. House and we've talked about it a few times, but I still think the locals would assume another bunch of dirty wastelanders are making a selfish power grab. I don't think we'd be able to keep their support and we'd be overthrown before the year is out.” Six points and shoots her finger guns at a line of imaginary bottles on a fence behind Cass' hat. Cass pretends to catch a bullet, juggles the hot imaginary metal in her hands, and throws it into her glass with an actual hiss from her teeth. Veronica chuckles and Cass drains her whiskey, winking.

 

“Look, we’ve gone over this already,” Boone says, setting down his beer. His hands are so precise that the glass makes no sound, even the metal surcace. “One, defeat the Legion. Two, shoot your way to the top. Three, be the president or whatever when your adoring fans throw you a fuckin' ticker-tape parade. Caesar: defeated. Nevada: saved. Enough!”

 

"A straight line _is_ the shortest distance between two points." Arcade clinks his slender glass against Raul's bottle and they both drink.

 

Six agrees but then gestures to the long, blue line on the right side of the map. "That would be the most convenient plan _if_ we could defeat Caesar’s Legion by ourselves, but let’s face it, folks, we’ve been fighting to get some _action_  from them for the better part of a year and no matter how many _weapons_ we collect, or _slaves_ we free, or NRC grunts we _shuffle_ along the entire West Bank of the Colorado, we’re no closer to breaking the siege than we were a year ago." She shrugs. "We're stuck in a rut."

 

Veronica meets her eyes and nods encouragingly while everyone else talks among themselves. At once, Six feels the knot in her chest loosen. V had been the first person to throw in her lot with the resurrected package courier, so she'd seen every single fruitless struggle, thankless toil, and Phyrric victory. So many times, Veronica and Six had been ready to charge  _screaming_ into hell, guns blazing, only to survive by sheer dumb luck! Her oldest friend could be trusted to roll back onto her feet, ready for the next trainwreck, and Six doesn't know what she'd do without her.

 

Six looks at Cass who is pouring herself a new whiskey and frowns to herself. So far, Cass seems more interested in cracking jokes than finding solutions and Courier Six really, really wants her to say 'yes'. A Cassidy who doesn't like a plan is not a Cassidy that's fun to work with.

 

“ _Our_ problem is that we’ve been trying to recruit all the factions with facts, logic, and diplomacy,” Six says with a derisive snort. “People hate facts and logic! We make decisions with our hearts, not our heads. Soooo...let's give them something to believe in! We'll get everything organized and then, we should come up with something catchy to put on a banner like, 'Come Joine Ye the Commonwealthe of Vegas!' o-or, or maybe give whole the state a new, snappy name like the 'Free State of Vegas'… or the 'Mojave United Liberation Front'! Personally, I'm leaning towards the Mojave United Liberation Front but MULF is a terrible--”

 

"Did you somehow memorize that book I gave you?" gasped Arcade. "You only took it _yesterday._ "

 

On her table, Six turns over a book so the title, 'Socialism for Dummies' is no longer visible. "It was interesting!” she pouts.

 

“WHEN DO THE GRANDBABIES COME IN?”

 

“Right! Sorry, Lily, I’m back on track.” Six quietly adjusts her coat. “The real trick, I believe, is giving the people a symbol to... well, to _rally_ behind. Arcade lent me some books on European monarchy… totally  _fascinating_. Long story short, the families back then were unbelievably tight like New Vegas and they ALSO had this whole civil-war-on-the-backburner thing prevent war and consolidate their legitimacy as rulers, the kings and queens were all related through marriage. You wouldn't attack anyone else then, because you'd be attacking your own people, see?”

 

"Oh, I get it. It's like... Brotherhood don't mess with the territory of other chapters."

 

Cass nods. "Or yoink someone else's route."

 

" _Si, entiendo,"_ Raul snorts, “but you've got a bit of a problem, boss. You can’t marry into all the families at once. Think of the holiday reunions!”

 

Six laughs. “You’re right, I can’t marry every man in Nevada, Tejada. Not sure I’d want to! What I _do_ want, however," --she pauses dramatically-- "is to have a _child_ with all of them!”

 

The lounge goes silent. Not a whirr of servos nor a clink of drink to be heard. A stranger standing in the middle would think the universe had gone temporarily mute when Rose of Sharon Cassidy's boots slip off her table and crash noisily on the floor.

 

"All right!" she yells, throwing a fist in the air and shooting her drink. She starts a slow clap that only one other person joined. Unfortunately for their hearing, it was Lily.

 

With typical nightkin enthusiasm, Lily dropped her Stealth Boy cover and crashed her thunderous pair of dumpster mitts together hard enough to rattle every table in the lounge. Cries of shock and awe was the response, to no avail. Lily couldn't her them over her own applause. While clutching her ears, Six scolded herself for forgetting  _again._ Lily was trying so hard to stop using them so much and here, Six forgot her friend was in the room again.

 

“SO MANY BABIES!” Lily exclaims to a stunned Veronica. Veronica shouts to Boone, sitting in the chair right beside her. Boone signals back that he can't hear _shit_.

 

Raul stands and puts both of his hands on one her massive forearms and _hauls_ with all his might to get her attention. "Stop,  _abuelita! Ya estamos sordos_ _!"_ She did stop, and they all took a moment to recover.

 

Arcade Gannon, no surprise, regains his hearing first. Even though it's late and technically after hours, he's still wearing his crisp, white Follower's coat and pressed slacks. Six sees him clear his throat, loudly tugging the collar of his turtleneck.

 

“Look!" he shouts, sternly arching his eyebrows, "Unless you are planning to either advance or reverse genetic technology by a few hundred years, it just isn’t medically viable for you to have a baby with more than one father!” 

 

While they contemplate this fact, Jane glides by and refills their drinks again. "Thank you!" shouts everyone's mouths in unison.

 

“So, this is a long-term plan, I take it!?” says the sniper. Though he barely moving his lips, Six hears him clear as day. “Popping out a dozen kids is going to take some time no matter _how_ quickly you get around!!”

 

“I'm not going to have a dozen kids, Boone!! I'm not _actually_  going to sleep with every single person in the Southern Nevada Desert Cooperative!” cries Six, alarmed by the coldness of his eyes. “I only need to have _one_ child.”

 

"WHAT? SPEAK UP!"

 

“Well, I--”

 

"Ok, wait! I can hear someth--"

 

“How many men _are_ you planning on banging... Sixtie-Nine??” Cass hoots, cupping her hand around her mouth. She then performs the kind of dance typically seen at Gomorrah  _towards_ Boone, who picks up his beer and moves to the other side of Raul.

 

“--No, no, let me explain... LET ME EXPLAIN!” cries Courier Six at the top of her lungs, then  _viciously_ stamps her combat boot down hard enough to make the tall whiteboard rock on its spindly legs.

 

Finally, the room stills.

 

Six's ears catch the flutter of paper behind her but this is worth hearing. So, she waits. She waits until Craig Boone's sunglasses finally angle away from the beer he's white-knuckle throttling... and up towards her. His sunburned jaw looks tight.

 

“Here's what I think," she begins, tapping New Vegas on the map, "It's hard for us to understand people who don't look or think or talk like us. Different languages... different appearances... there's _so much_ to get tripped up by. When it's hard to understand how we're _alike_ , it's hard to see past our differences. Have you ever seen a King without his pompadour or a Brotherhood of Steel without their holotags? How many conflicts have we solved where it seemed like the problem was that _some_ people were just wearing different colored jackets?"

 

"It'd be like a Courier without her _abrigo jodido_ , eh, boss?" Raul grins at his own jibe. Of course, he's throwing shade at the dirty, patchy coat the Courier has worn ever since they'd each met her. Veronica giggles and then Cass chuckles with her. Arcade preens as though dirt were contagious, which makes Lily point and guffaw and what do you know? Like the radio suddenly tuning unto just the right station... everyone is laughing. Raul's magic.

 

"You are absolutely right," says Six, beaming. "A child on the other hand… well, a child can belong to a tribe _instantly,_ accepted in a way that an adult just can’t. With the wealth and prosperity of a centralized government at stake... well. Some people might even be willing to try out this whole Cooperative Civilization thing _just_  to raise the potential future ruler of New Vegas in their own cultural footsteps."

 

"I can't believe this!" Arcade tuts and raises an eyebrow. "So you think that you can get some  _guy_  from each tribe to think that he is the father of your baby, suck in the rest of the tribe along with him and then what? Pray to God they don't repay your humongous lie with torches and pitchforks!?"

 

She points her salad tongs at him smartly. "That's a great question, actually, and it's why  _timing_ is the key piece of our Trojan Horse diplomacy. Here, let me show you!" She turns to the board and _hops_ , trying mightily to reach a pin at the top of the whiteboard so she can turn it over. She misses, even with both arms over her head, and the _clomp_ of heavily falling combat boots is defeatist. "V," she says, batting her eyelashes, "Can you help me, please?"

 

"Sure!" Veronica stands quickly and flips the whiteboard from the map of southern Nevada to the blank side.

 

"Thanks!"

 

"No sweat. We could also just make it lower if you want."

 

"Nah, I've got it now."

 

"Are you sure? It's no problem!"

 

Six's smile by now is frozen. "No. No, thank you."

 

"Ok!" V chirrups. Then, she skips away like the worst shit-eating tramp in Freeside. Damn her height.

 

Courier Six attaches a red dry-erase marker to a pair of salad tongs with a hair tie, then writes a list of dates and cities at the very top. Miraculously, she resists the urge to turn and stick out her tongue at her tall-ass BFF. "Okay, here we go."

 

"Over a two week period, we take a tour of all the major towns of the Mojave and sell them on the idea of joining a New Nevada Union. We’ll send out announcements, roll in with a stocking full of gifts, and then _schmooze_ until they like us. Two weeks later, okay, and now they've had a chance to think about it and remember the good times we had. They PROBABLY won't send the head honcho, I mean, what if it's a ploy to assassinate all the chieftains in one go! Someone a little lower on the totem pole, maybe? Perhaps... someone with a vested interest in seeing me again?"

 

Raul laughs, at least. She takes heart and plunges onward.

 

"If we frame it right, it will feel like a party tour and then maybe it won't seem suspicious if a few _innocent_ one-night-stands occur. Nine or tenish months later… who’s to say which man is the father? As far as they’re concerned… the baby _could_ belong to any tribe! But wait, there's more!”

 

\--The salad tongs clatter in her hands but she keeps writing, lining and outlining the same big, bold, red letters--

 

"When they all arrive... let's do what we say. Let's ACTUALLY try to make this work. We can make a government, we know how! Every one of us has ties to some major player in the Mojave Valley and on into California! Every one of us is some kind of expert in our field! I think... I think we should be the ones to make it official." She steps back from the whiteboard and gestures at the words she's written.

 

THE MOJAVE UNITED

 

Six turns and looks breathlessly at her friends' faces, trying to imagine what wheels whiz in their heads.

 

Arcade uncrosses his legs to lean towards her. “I feel like there’s a pretty big flaw in your plan,” he says, steepling his fingertips. “A simple paternity test would determine right away who was the father. The other men  _will_ feel betrayed when it's not theirs, they'll resent the man who is, and even a government in the easiest of circumstances can't function if it's eating its own tail.”

 

“You are still thinking with Facts and Logic, Dr. Gannon,” says Six, shaking her tongs at him. “Keep in mind that the only people out here who really trust scientific medicine are the Followers of the Apocalypse. When the possible fathers show up, they’ll see only what they _expect_ to see. If they start to throw a fuss then perhaps we can be  _diplomatic_ and suggest that they won't want to jeopardize the new possibility of safety with a brawl." 

 

They look at one another. Raul coughs into his scarred fist.

 

"There are an awful lot of 'if's' in this plan, boss _._ It's gonna be a lot of hard work, too."

 

“It _is_ an ambitious plan," she agrees, "maybe even impossible, I don’t know. On the other hand... the Brotherhood of Steel is willing to play outside Hidden Valley. Primm can take care of itself. Nelson is completely free and the Powder Gangers are split up, never to return! If we can make this work, then we could be more prepared to face the Legion than ever before! With that kind of cooperation, we might even have the collective strength to push Caesar back into Arizona where he belongs without a _lick_ of help from California! And... if we fail, we will still have brought food and friendship to people who still think that the city of New Vegas doesn’t want them.” She hesitates then adds, "We can  _help_ people."

 

They seem to hold their breath.

 

"You really think it's worth it?"

 

Courier Six caps her marker and nods. "I know. It's a risky plan and it _is_ going to need a lot of work but this... this is where I'm really going to need your help. So... I made a decision." She sets the tongs on the table, then rolls her shoulders. "I'm calling in my favors."

 

"What, all of them?" gasps Cass.

 

"Yes, all of the favors I'm holding. I know some of you have more than others but... well, here's a chance to burn all of them at once. Join me on this tour, help me make the Mojave United a real thing, and we'll have a clean slate when a constitution is in my hand. No strings attached."

 

Arcade immediately leans over to Boone and murmurs something that makes his lips twitch. The others, it seems, also have things to say so V lets them work it out until the ice disappears from her glass.

 

She raises her hand for attention. “Okay, it's late. I have one more question and then we should make a decision so we can all go to bed,” Veronica says. “Okay,. Okay, so… what happens if you can’t, you know, get pregnant?”

 

Everyone looks to Six.

  

The Courier smiles at Cass and rubs her hands together bashfully. “For that, I’ll need your help at the clinic tomorrow. Are you in?”

 

Rose of Sharon Cassidy swirls the ice in her glass and glances to either side, noticing how many people are looking sidelong at her. She lets Six hang for almost a full minute longer, then stands and holds up her whiskey. “All right," she crows, "Let's do it!!”

 

Veronica leaps to her feet, "A toast! To friendship!"

 

"Ugh, no," drawls Arcade as he eats the cherry from his drink, "To the misuse of Followers' research material  _at least._ "

 

"TO GRANDBABIES!!"

 

"To getting back on the road!"

 

"To gettin' some on the road!"

 

"Cass!"

 

"Nope! Stickin' to it!"

 

"To the Mojave United!"

 

"THE MOJAVE UNITED!!" 

 

xXx

 

In the weeks following, they all became overwhelmingly busy with preparations for what Six was calling the ‘Great Diplomatic Tour of the New Vegas Valley 2282.’ Or the 'Suck'n'Fuck-It Bucket Tour' when she was exceptionally drunk. It had been happening a lot lately, Veronica noticed, though never when she thought others could hear her through the bedroom door.

 

“My vision is a grand progressus," Six finished portentously one afternoon, "the purpose of which is toexchange culture, gifts, and ideas as we travel through the land that will one day be the Mojave United Commonwealth. Each tribe is important and unique in their way, for example, take the Followers. Since they are already the masters of medicine, we will propose that they should be in charge of hospitals, clinics, end of life care, and the education of such, much like they are now but now with the support and funding of the government!”

 

“Julie will like that,” commented Arcade. He finished clipping some examples of paper currency to the red square labeled 'NCR' and returned to the books at his seat.

 

The map of Nevada was back on the rollaway whiteboard and since its first appearance, Six had stuck several color-coded magnets on it in key places and a new, detailed chart of families hung off the bottom along with seven different colored markers ("So we can tell them apart!" cried Arcade, two days in). In the vast spiderweb that now surrounded THE MOJAVE UNITED, they had made space for each of the major factions and some key details about the. For instance, the Brotherhood's circle read things like "Helios One" and "Power Suit Highway Patrol??" while the Boomers' said "Make smaller airplanes for emergency travel?" and in much smaller writing "Then steal for Buzzing Black Mountain!" Piles of drawings, pictures, tickets, and reminders of favors owed by the Strip families lay on most of the metal cocktail tables that the New Vegas Team was using as workstations.

 

Veronica shook her head and returned to paying attention.  “--New Vegas is already the sin and vice destination of the post-apocalypse. Hundreds of thousands of people make their way here to blow all their money on gambling and the high life, so let’s just roll with it. We can do that the best by providing every kind of ‘safe’ vice there is for their total indulgence and that means our drugs can’t kill off the first wave of tourists. The Khans know what they’re doing, we are just making it legitimate and safe.”

 

“I don’t like it.”

 

Six rolls her eyes. “Yes, but you don’t like _anything_ , Boone.”

 

He grunts and adjusts the HAM to the next station. The Rangers have been beefing up their security lately, so frequency hopping was becoming frustratingly standard. Boone or Raul usually had the best chance of finding the useful nuggets of information.

 

Lily sat on the stairs between tables. She didn't have much to do yet, so she mostly sat with them while they worked, humming and knitting something the size of an elephant trunk-warmer. “HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN MAKING THIS PLAN, SWEETHEART?” she asked, counting stitches with huge, pink Bighorner yarn.

 

Six gazes at all of the work on the board and considers. “Ever since the first time I laid eyes on New Vegas." She opened one of her notebooks and closed it again without really reading the page. Veronica caught a glimpse writing so small and cramped as to be illegible. And on fronts and backs to boot!

 

"Okay, new jobs. Here they are!” Six hands her a card with addresses on it. “Let me know how many caps you need to pay your helpers and postage and everything. Aaaaaand, break! See you tomorrow, everyone!” At that, they leave. Cass can be heard bemoaning the lack of decent bars outside Vegas while they wait for Lily to manage the stairs behind them.  

 

Veronica, however, hangs back.

 

While the others pile into the elevator to go blow off some steam at the Wrangler, she watches the Courier turn back to the map and gesture towards the colorful organizer with her finger. To V, it almost looks like her friend is talking to someone invisible. Someone tall? Or maybe she is drawing new border lines, who knows? V pushes back her rough hood to scratch her short hair. She had worn her hair long for quite a while in the bunker, but after her decision to scavenge the wasteland outside Hidden Valley, the length had seemed impractical. Now, it was much nicer to take care of so she kept it that way. It occurs to her that Courier Six has never seen her with long hair. Funny, because Six often helped her trim the back evenly.

 

“So… what’s really going on, huh?” Veronica says, sidling up beside her.

 

"Hm?" says Six, tapping Nelson's magnet where it says '3 family houses'. "Oh, it's no big deal. I just wasn't the McLafferty's vibe tonight, you know?"

 

"Not about that, dummy," says Veronica more insistently. "About this entire project. This is months and months of planning you're handing to us in, what, three days? You've had this ready to go for a really long time and  _boom_ it's priority number one all of a sudden. What fibs are you telling?" She crosses her arms with mock admonishment.

 

“I haven’t told a fib about any single thing, thank you very much!” Six answers, coolly. “I _have_ been thinking about this plan since arriving in New Vegas. I must have written journals and journals full of notes, they're just in _boxes_ right now--”

 

“Yeaaaaaah, but that’s not everything, is it? You haven’t talked about this plan with _anyone_ until just this weekend. What changed?”

 

Six glances sidelong at Veronica and sighs. She reaches into her breast pocket and produces a carefully folded piece of paper and, without further comment, hands it to V. She opens the heavy paper to find a hand-written letter drawn by a heavy hand that used an inkwell and fountain pen. She feels completely flummoxed! It’s not even very long -- only about ⅔ of the rectangular page -- but Veronica with her exhaustive Brotherhood education can’t understand what it says.

 

“This is… Latin.”

 

Courier Six nods. “Look at the signature.”

 

“Legate… Lanius!? The Monster of the East, the Right Arm of Caesar is sending you personal letters? In _Latin?_ ”

 

“Mmhmm. I had Arcade write up a translation for me. It’s a challenge.”

 

“What, like a quest?”

 

“No, like a duel to the death.”

 

A sharp intake of breath and Veronica turns to shake the letter right in Six's face. “You’re not actually going to do this insane thing, are you?” Six doesn’t answer right away so V swings her around by the shoulder and stares into her eyes. “You aren’t, right?"

 

“I… I don’t know,” Six admits. Gently, she turns from Veronica's grasp and steps away to gaze out the window at Vegas. The neon is beginning to glow against the darkening sky and it plays across her cheek. “The challenge of a duel isn’t so much what worries me; I mean, one fight isn’t going to determine who gets to rule Vegas for themselves no matter _what_ Lanius thinks. The thing that worries me is that the letter was sent _at all._ "

 

"Huh?"

 

"Look." Finally,  Caesar's impenetrable fortress across the river from Boulder City bears two red rings, a blue square, several angry black arrows, and a number of small holes from its previous life as a dartboard. "The Legion has been content to sit on that rock overlooking the Dam for months, watching us spin our wheels in the mud and arrange their troops _just so_. Remember when the Rangers were shocked that the Legion was so far west of the Colorado? That's normal now. We’ve seen their forces; maybe not all together, but their raiding parties are everywhere and in such huge numbers it's making the NCR nervous.”

 

Veronica snorts. “Wait-and-See Oliver is worried? Those raiders are, like, five or six guys!”

 

“Maybe so, but a smart military leader would never leave their base unattended so close to enemy territory," says Six. She turns away from the window and points to the map of Nevada, at Fortification Hill."God forbid you send out every unit and some lucky spy wanders along with a mind to burn the whole thing to ashes. Nope. I’ve made some guesses and Raul has checked my numbers. I think Caesar has enough soldiers to wipe us all off the face of the planet and  _then some._  It makes me wonder why, you know? Why is he content to play this game with us?”

 

Veronica looks back at the letter, tracing the unfamiliar words with her finger. She notices the two English words halfway down and it jogs her memory of some previous 'war room' meetings. “It’s the Dam,” she says, feeling a leap of intuition. “I think Caesar made a mistake when he hung all of the troop’s strengths and weaknesses on it. Now he’s stuck because if they abandon it, it looks weak.”

 

“I thought so, too. See, if they float the whole army down to Cottonwood Cove and march right along the southern highway, who’s going to stop them?" Six points to a few circled towns on the lower part on the map. "Searchlight is irradiated as hell and there's only one, sad NCR unit down there trying to keep the peace. They already burned Nipton to the ground once and sure, we’ve put people there, but they’re just settlers! They’re not prepared to run and hide from the Legion, much less put up a real resistance. And what’s the next stop along? The Mojave Outpost. Caesar could be eating sushi in LA by next week.”

 

“But wait... wouldn't that mean the Legion bypasses New Vegas altogether? That could be the best solution for us.”

 

Six shakes her head. “Most of our supplies, trade, income, and protection comes through the Outpost. If the Legion burns it down to stop anyone from coming through, then we’re fucked. Caesar will watch us slowly starve to death and come mop up anyone left behind... even if we surrender. The fact that they haven’t done it yet tells me you’re right about the Dam being a symbol of strength for them.”

 

Veronica hands back the letter but she isn't satisfied yet. “You don’t think that’s all of it, do you?” she asks, making a prompting gesture with an empty hand.

 

Her friend makes a frustrated noise in the back of her throat. V can almost see her working through the puzzle in her head, though it seems like she might only have half a box of pieces.

 

“No, I don’t," she says. "Something has changed. The annexation of New Vegas seems more urgent than it has since we arrived on the scene. Maybe there was a mutiny and a new Caesar is in town. Maybe they’ve decided to capture us all and use us as cannon fodder to take over the NCR… I don't know! But something is different... and that's what scares me. They could be planning anything and if they do something drastic before we succeed we might have to evacuate the whole, burning valley. I don't think there's a backup plan this time. This plan has to work. It _has_ to.”

 

Six folds up her letter up and puts it back in her breast pocket. Then, she looks out the window, mouthing silently to herself.

 

“You need sleep,” says Veronica decisively, making Six jump. “You’re going to worry yourself to death like this… and it will be bad for a baby, too.”

 

“You’re right, you're right. Of course... no, you’re right. I’ll get Arcade to fork over some sleeping pills.” Six looks at Veronica - _really_ looks at her - and her heart fills with emotion. Veronica's wearing her brown street clothes, the same she was wearing when they met at the Route 88 Slop and Shop way back when. They were younger then, less used to the world. V's hair was longer. 'Courier' was just a job title. “Hey, V, um... This is a big thing I’m asking for and knowing that you have my back… it helps. A lot.”

 

“Don’t mention it,” she says, smiling and taking the Courier by the elbow. "Just let me do my job."

 

"Okay."

 

At long last, V drags her off to her bed.

 

xXx

 

_Ave Courier VI,_

_Too long have you opposed the mighty will of Caesar with impunity and I am become the sword that shall slay you. Send your countrymen and minions to cower behind your wall, for you and I are destined to meet on an honorable battlefield. As the eighth month dies, come to the place of Caesar’s great victory upon Hoover Dam prepared to fight. When the sun sinks behind the mountain, there we battle for the soul of New Vegas or all of Nevada's people will meet their destruction._

_In the August name of Caesar,_

_Legate Lanius_

 

xXx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, there! If it turns out this story isn't for you, I completely understand and you have my thanks for giving it a shot. If it just so happens that you are intrigued to see what happens next, please don't keep it a secret! Let me know in comments.


	2. THE PROLOGUE WHEREIN Boone does some interior design, Cass opens the mail, and Six flips a table.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many preparations take place before the Speech which launches the diplomatic tour. Not everyone, it seems, was fully on board with the decision to create the MU, but Six isn't present to listen to teammate complains. NSFW

Downtown is the Freeside Post Office, a little tin shack with a precariously heavy Mojave Express sign. A keen young mail carrier there works there with whom Cass often chats. Well, 'chat' might not be the correct term. He, usually charmingly pink around the ears, tries to talk about the weather often giving her detailed, stammering forecasts for the entire month while she smiles and flirts shamelessly. When's she's had enough talk, she likes to teach him about other ways to communicate, too. It's her favorite way to entertain herself on workdays and there have been plenty enough of those lately.

 

“Hey, where’s Six? I have her mail.” Cass throws down a thick bundle of letters and folders held together by a piece of baling twine.  _The post needs to_ come _more often_ , she thinks with a smirk, recalling how he tried to keep talking about the possibility of rain when her hands were already unbuckling his belt. He didn't have too much to say after that point. 

 

"Watch it!" barks Boone, standing up irritably. He was taking notes on a yellow legal pad at the kitchen table and checking through old receipts or at least... he had been until the mail arrived. Cass had dropped the huge bundle on his carefully ordered receipts and now, they're scattered all across the floor. 

 

"Oops," she says, shrugging. She opens the fridge and peers inside with mild interest. "So where is she?"

 

Arcade points toward the floor, dripping soapy water on the glossy yellow laminate. “She’s holed up in the basement with Raul and Lily. They’re trying to get the machinery working and they needed a big space to test it.”

 

A derisive snort comes from Boone who, having cleaned up her mess, is now aggressively tallying numbers. “They’re making the speech tomorrow into some kind of goddamn _spectacle_.” Boone stabs down a decimal point, "Fuckin' ridiculous."

 

“Eh, that’s too far to walk.” Cass, now with cold beer in hand, throws herself into the chair across from Boone and props up her feet on the corner of the table. “Maybe I'll just I’ll watch you do math instead. What’s that?” she asks brightly, pointing to a column with several cramped numbers.

 

Boone’s jaw immediately tenses. “How long we’re staying at each location.”

 

“Mmm," she says, halfway through a mouthful of beer. "What’s that one?” She points to the column next to it containing bigger numbers.

 

“How much we’re spending on gifts.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

Arcade can practically hear Boone’s blood pressure rising. “The total amount of money we've got left,” he gets out through gritted teeth. He's looking down with such intensity that he doesn't see his antagonists' gleeful smile.

 

“What’s--”

 

Craig Boone can't take it a second longer. He leaps out of his seat, which knocks his chair over and jostles the table so hard Cass splashes beer onto the legal pad. “Shut up, Cass! Fuck, don't you ever stop being annoying!?” he cries, "I'm just trying to get my work done, not hold some kind of numbskull accounting class for assholes!!"

 

Arcade prays he won't have a tension headache from this. "Play nicely, please!"

 

“If he wanted me to stop,” she says in a sing-song trill, “then he could have just _asked_!”

 

With a roar, Boone turns and punches his fist straight through the kitchen wall. CRUNCH! In the next moment, he seizes his rifle and stomps out of the kitchen towards the elevator. With a tired DING he sweeps in and disappears. The kitchen seems much quieter after that.

 

“You’re kind of an asshole, Cass,” says Arcade, turning back to his washing.

 

"Yeah." She shrugs and has another swig. “Your point?”

 

“My point is that it's not helping. Boone is having a hard enough time dealing with the tour and the speech coming up without you pushing his buttons left, right, and center," says Arcade more patiently than he feels. Even the clink of a clean beaker sounds disapproving to his ears. "He hates this plan of Six’s and he's not coping well.”

 

Cass sits up and jabs her thumb back at her own chest. “Hey, I don't like it, either, pal, but if he didn't want to come along, why didn't he say so at the beginning? We wouldn't have stopped him!”

 

Arcade finished rinsing a tall, slender test tube and examines at his handiwork against the fluorescent light. “Let's even say you're right and he should have spoken up about the charter right away. What then, hm? Boone’s not used to doing the heavy lifting of a plan, yet. He’s usually off doing reconnaissance work when we're planning, and his entire support network agreed to go, so he'd be left here alone for a fortnight at least if he refused. That's a big pill to swallow. Of course," he looks sidelong at her, "There's no telling what kind of favor Six has over him. It might have been...  _an offer he couldn't refuse!_ "

 

His imitation of the old holotape was so atrocious, Cassidy just rolls her eyes pulls her hat down over her face. “Whelp, he’s gonna to have to learn sometime,” she says with a yawn. Almost immediately, she startles back up when her feet go flying off the table. “Hey!”

 

“Hey, nothing, Rose of Sharon Cassidy,” Arcade shakes the wet test tube and fixes her with a serious look. “You are his Teammate. You are going to go Apologize for being a selfish Ass because that’s What Teammates Do _._ We need his help just as much as we need yours and unless you’re going to do cover double cooking shifts from now until forever, that means supporting him and helping him get through this... funk of his.”

 

"Ugh, _fine_ if you'll stop bitching," she says, leaning back in her chair again and throwing her feet back on the table over Boone's arithmetic.

 

"Now, Rose!" he says snapping a towel by her leg. "Hup!"

 

“Jesus, Mom!! All right, all right! I’m going!” Cass stores the bottle, grabs her shotgun, and slinks out of the kitchen. Grumbling, she takes the elevator all the way up to the top of the Lucky 38 and arrives on a tiny, darkly lit landing. Up here, the building sways alarmingly making her feel seasick. Cass remembers Six offhandedly telling her that the top-heavy casino wasn’t even designed to withstand _minor_  earthquakes and the next one could bring the whole thing down but the old girl was built with such arrogance she impudently remained standing.There are a few crates in this cold crawlspace and some other things like a bucket and a ladder. In the opposite corner, though is a rusty metal ladder leading up through a hatch. Bingo! Cass ducks around the precarious storage, scoots quickly out the hatch, and braces for impact.

 

She is standing on the wide saucer of the cocktail lounge though without the benefit of glass or steel. Sure as shit, the atmospheric wind is  _fierce_ tonight and she is scrabbling to stay upright. Unbelievably powerful blasts of freezing air scream through the steel antenna loud enough to burst an eardrum. Boone, of course, sits on the opposite side of the roof, facing out across the city with his legs dangling over the side. She squints at his hunched back and imagines his stern, hawkish face pointing towards McCarran. The control tower is a big landmark and he'd be familiar with it, though Cass has never actually been inside.

 

On the other hand, it makes sense why this is his thinking spot instead of an NCR bar: the view from this height is unbeatable. The setting sun beats down on every shining surface, scattering multicolor rays of light in every direction. it's easy to forget how cruel and empty the Mojave can be when your eyes are full orange and pink light that dazzle like fireworks but even here in the heart of the city, the desert was never too far away. Dark, jagged mountains rise out of craggy shadows along miles and miles of flat desert, which is slowly them pulling a dark blue blanket over itself for the night. Boone looks lost in it, a small dark mass slouching starkly against a fantastic backdrop. “Hey!” Cass gasps but the dark shape doesn't turn to look. There's absolutely no way she was heard. 

 

Cass tightens her kerchief around her neck, then grabs the handrail and holds on for dear life. Between gusts, she shuffles along the rail, closer and closer, until he's within hailing distance. 

 

"Hey!!" she shouts.

 

His shoulders tense, almost flexing to his ears. "Hey, what??" he says, gripping the edge of the saucer.

 

“Come back inside!”

 

“Fuck off!” Boone shouts over his shoulder. "Arcade made you come up here!"

 

“Yes! I'm supposed to say I'm sorry!”

 

His biceps bulge but still, he doesn't turn around. "I don't want your shitty apology!!"

 

"Cool! See ya!"

 

Immediately, Cass reverses her grip on the rail and starts inching her way back, whistling a little, inaudible tune while she does. She gets a fair distance when she slows and stops. She can't go back yet. Arcade will be mad if she doesn't try harder and then he'll be annoying about it for the rest of the day. He might tell Veronica, who would try to have a heart-to-fuckin-heart with her and that would be even worse! With a groan, she turns around and slides back to the very, very end of the rail. Still a good 10 feet from him, but clearly audible over the weather.

 

"No, I'm back and I'm sorry, damnit!!" she yells, hanging off the end. "I'm an asshole or whatever!"

 

“Do you even know why you're such a huge asshole!?” he demands. Normally, he totally hides his face behind a douchey pair of aviators, but when the wind blows her back, she actually catches a real glimpse of him. The corners of his thin mouth are turned down in a hard frown and the all of skin she can see is red, but not entirely due to the sunset. "Do you??"

 

She grips the rail and shakes her head. “Because… you hate Six's plan, but you’re going along with it and I made it harder to do something that you don't want to do anyway?? Like, displaced rage, man!!”

  

Boone surges to his feet and faces Cassidy, pointing angrily to his own temple. “You don’t really believe that, do you!? Six is a danger to herself and everyone around her! She talks a big game about making some kind of fuckin' paradise for Nevada but guess what? She’ll do what she always does; wait until the last possible minute, and then try to convince us that we're something special and we -- like _morons! --_ will go in after her clean up the mess!"

 

Even as she leans back, she feels like there should be a reasonable argument to this. The New Vegas Team had helped quite a lot of people together in the last year, hadn't they? Sure, Cass doesn't always agree with _all_ of Six's decisions, and if she's being totally honest with herself, it's  _occasionally_ because they lack the confidence of a well-laid-out plan, but... everyone was still alive, weren't they? Furthermore, they had sweet digs to live in and securitron butlers. It's Cass's dream come true!

 

Boone doesn't wait for any kind of comment from her, but steps closer quickly and speaks more urgently, pointing wildly at the city below. "This is a _battlefield_ , Cass! When her plan doesn't work out it won’t be, ‘Oops-a-daisy! I guess there really _were_ feral ghouls down in this abandoned-ass mineshaft, how funny!’ it’ll be, ‘Six, I'm here to shoot you down from a burning cross to save you from a life of slavery and torture! I just don’t know how my life would be complete without _this_ bonding experience!’” He spits with disgust over the side.

 

“Maybe!” Cass shouts. “Or maybe you're delusional and paranoid! Just because we've made some mistakes in the past doesn't mean that's _exactly_ what's going to happen this time, too!! It always works out in the end because Six and the rest of us your scrawny back!!” 

 

"That's some bullshit!!" He swears more, but the wind snatches the words right out of his mouth. "-- doesn't have control over the goddamn world! We should be fighting the enemy, not wining-and-dining some nobodies from the backwater!!"

 

"What the fuck, Boone!? You're a nobody from the backwater!! Where the hell was your platinum spoon, left it back in the fuckin' Hub??"

 

All at once, he clams up. "Whatever," he says, crossing his arms. "It doesn't matter."

 

"What doesn't matter?"

 

"Nothing. Apology not accepted. Have a nice fuckin' day."

 

Cass had enough of recalcitrant men and their emotional problem."Oh my god, will you quit being a dick and either get over it or tell me why you're so fuckin' angry at Six, already??"

 

"Because I--" he stops. He looks away, reflecting brilliant orange light in his shades and as though zapped into her brain like lightning, she gets a flash of insight.

 

"Wait... just a second..."

 

Her suddenly thoughtful voice makes his head snap back up. "...No!"

 

"Fuck, you like her!"

 

"Get the hell off my back, woman!!"

 

Cassidy smiles so widely her head might just crack open. "So, when didja first kiss? Ooh, did you give her your jacket to wear? Wait, no! You're saving yourselves for marriage! Come on, chicks dig romantic cra--"

 

_SLAM!_

 

Suddenly, Boone's face is inches from hers, screaming "NEVER!! NEVER, OKAY?? SHE JUST WANTED TO FUCK ME, SHE DIDN'T WANT ANYTHING TO DO WITH ME!!"  

 

The wind is whipping his shirt around a strong, athletic body, perfectly capable of crushing her arms to powder. Cass stares at him until he seems to realize himself and releases her. The sunlight is slipping away quickly now. It's getting dark and soon, it will be freezing up here. Boone crosses to her other side and holds the railing with both hands, carefully out of arm's reach.

 

"We've... um, did some things. Maybe compromising things. I had a score to settle and Six... was there for it. End of story." The rail is spotted with raindrops. Raindrops from a crystal clear sky.

 

"Oh," she says, tactfully looking away. "Oh, that sucks."

 

"...yeah."

 

"I'm sorry, I really didn't know! I won't tell anyone."

 

"Whatever. It... it's old news."

 

"No, really." Cass sticks out her hand. “I’m sorry. I can do better at not steppin’ on your toes... For now.”

 

"Yeah. Yeah, ok." Boone shakes her hand as briefly as possible, then they go back down through the hatch and into the elevator. In the absence of deafening wails, Cass can only hear white noise in her ears, feeling only her heartbeat in her throat.

 

“Hey, weren't you looking for Courier Six originally?" Boone asks suddenly. His voice sounds badly tuned. "Raul radioed 5 minutes before you showed up. She's gone out.”

 

“Oh?" says Cass, probably way too loud in a way small elevator. "Where'd she go?”

 

xXx

 

For old time’s sake, Courier Six slips a handful of bottlecaps into Pacer’s pocket on her way in. It's been a while since she's come to call but she hasn't missed an opportunity to play with him yet and she won't start now. He pulls a black comb through his hair as though he doesn’t even notice... but she knows he does.

 

"Evening, ma'am," he says in an easy drawl. His voice always sounded like chocolate to Six. "Don't you look a treat? Another ol' sugar daddy of yours up and 'explode his ticker' on you?"

 

Six readjusts the collar of her infrequently-worn Sunday dress, so faded by years and years of wash it could hardly be called 'blue' and shrugs. "Pacer, it's good to see you. How has the neighborhood been?"

 

"Same ol', same ol'. Thought I might have heard something about a big-shin-dig later on, though. Know anything about that, would you?"

 

She laughs. "I can't tell you that."

 

"Cryin' shame." Pacer clicks his fingers and a new person scampers up; a boy who doesn't wear a greaser jacket yet. He eyes Pacer attentively, clad only the black and white striped shirt of a candidate and a faded pair of black slacks. "Go on, then," he growls at the newcomer, gesturing at their guest.

 

Promptly, the boy sweeps away her coat. "E-excuse me, Courier," he stumbles in a voice that feels too big for his skinny body.

 

"Not at all. Here," she says, holding out some caps.

 

"Th-thank you!" he says in surprise. His eyes go wide at the palmful of money and he sprints off crying, "I'll... I'll bring it back!"

 

Six laughs. "Well, in that case, I'm glad I tipped well!" 

 

"He's learnin' well." Pacer winks and opens the door for her. "The King's already expecting you."

 

The inner sanctum of the foremost power outside the Strip is a beautifully restored Pre-War jazz club. In the recent year, the King's success and stability manifested in new velvet curtains for the low-lit cabaret stage. A rail of lights tinted with colored plastic hung from the ceiling, at present focused on a young man in an ill-fitting denim jacket swinging his legs as though he hopes to free his bones from their torturous flesh-prisons. In Six's mind, anyway. She doesn't take a good look, she has her eyes on the prize.

 

The audience sports many new tables and chairs but still in the center sits a tall, relaxed gentleman in a white blazer petting a most unusual dog. Though its brain is visible in a case on its head, the cyber-shepherd stands and wags his tail when it sees her, shaking just as enthusiastically as any loyal mutt could hope.

 

Just offstage lurks a broad-shouldered King, a black pistol tight on his hip. He nearly levels his sights at her but Six puts on a winning smile and steps out like she owns the place and declares, “My dear King! how have you been? 

 

The man looks up and grins in a lopsided way, charmingly close to a sneer. He has naturally handsome features - strong jaw, clear skin - which he chooses to enhance with an elaborate toilette, by his groupies' own words. "Well lookie here who's come to see us, Rexie. It's our old friend, the Courier," says the King with a drawl so practiced and so smooth he could have recorded the original holotapes. Six shivers, still impressed after all this time. He takes her handshake and brushes her knuckles against his lips. " _En-chan-tay_."

 

He indicates the chair across from him for her to sit, then turns to address her, totally ignoring the increasingly confused performance onstage. In another moment, a girl a poodle skirt brought them a pair of frosty old fashioned's. The talk, to Six's relief, come just as easy.

 

"You haven't been in any more trouble with the NCR crowd, I hope?" she teases, feeling emboldened. "I admit, I've been trying to keep the radio noise to a minimum.”

 

“No, no, no problems here," he says, resting one hand on Rex's neck and stretching out. His lopsided grin makes a return. "The NCR has been keeping to themselves lately, it seems. No more potshots across the train tracks on this watch. It's been quiet enough to, well... mend a few potholes and the like."

 

"I was going to ask why I hadn't twisted my ankle on the way over so there's that question answered." Six sips her refreshment and points her face towards the stage. Oh dear, the poor boy was singing now... _and_ he had acquired a three-stringed guitar, now that's just not how it's supposed to be... but een though her eardrums might turn to lumps of hot wax and leak out, she waits. It feels as though it could be Six onstage pouring raspy, pitchy heart to the King in his white blazer, willing to sacrifice herself for his entertainment except for one thing. The King... is a curious man.

 

If she waits long enough, he'll put his own leg in the trap to satisfy it.

 

Many unrecoverable moments later, Amateur Hour's demonstration of extended guitar technique decides he's finished and takes an impressive bow. "Th-thank you! Thank you!"

 

"Bravo!" Six leaps to her feet and slams her hands together filling the room with an entire stadium's worth of noise. "Bravo! Encore! We demand an Encore!! Come on boys, don't leave him hanging!" Obnoxiously, she continues to applaud long after decency dictated one should stop. Anyone else would have taken a hint when the bouncer stepped onto the stage to pull the performer away but not Six! No, she whistled and hooted, stamped and screeched until her accomplice finally understood. Rex wagged his tail so hard the metal cafe table shuddered with each lash. The excited dog then howled and borked with his friend, making the best doggie rucking imaginable until the King couldn't help but laugh and wave his bejeweled hand for the man to play another tune.

 

AH looks shocked and scrambles to start another song while the bouncer shrugs and returns to his cigarette.

 

"Ooooooh," sighs Six, pretending to like whatever song it is. No way to tell, not with those 'chords', but she closes her eyes and forces her mouth not to smile lest she laugh and give it all away.

 

"Now, Six, it ain't that I'm not glad to see you, but--"

 

"Shh!" she scolds, hopping her chair closer and softly sliding her hands around his arm. The white blazer is just as crisp as it appeared, crinkling so slightly under her fingers. "This is a good one."

 

"Come one now, Sixie. Anyone could tell you--"

 

"Mm-mm."

 

"But wait and--"

 

"Pleeeease...?"

 

"I... ah..." he stutters, grinding to a halt but it's not really his fault, poor man. Six used a cheap trick. Pressed against his side as she was, the King's height gave him the best vantage to discover the reason Six chose 'blue' Sunday dress for such unseemly purposes. It's old, missing buttons fell apart to reveal a perfect, tantalizing peek of her ample cleavage. True to form, his eyes needed quite a long second to save themselves from the depths of her soft breasts, unfettered by any supportive garment. When he finally managed to look up...  _wham_. Her big, brown eyes were waiting for him, open and blinking innocently under long, dark eyelashes. When he gets to recover his speech, Six begins to hum.

 

" _~Take my hand... take my whole life too...~_ " she sings in her best husky lounge singer voice. "What do you think, huh?"

 

The King swallows and finally blinks. He takes his arm back and throws it around her shoulders instead. "I suppose it's a pretty good song," he says with a squeeze.

 

They let him leave after that number, applauding reasonably and telling the girl in a poodle skirt to tip him well for their nonsense. Six seizes her fresh drink, rolling out of the King's casual embrace at the same time. Instantly, her skin feels cool and prickles with gooseflesh. She hears the blazer rasp against his chair.

 

"All right, Courier," he drawls, crossing his legs. "I know you can't be here just to haze the new blood. What really brings you down? No funny stuff, now, just an answer."

 

 _Clink._ Six sets down her drink and presses a frilly cocktail napkin to her lips. It comes away red.

 

"Sir," she says matter-of-factly, "We've always dealt fairly with one another, haven't we?"

 

Rex yips, proving in typical doggie fashion that canines still understand more than humans realize. King chuckles and scratches his Good Boy's ear. "Yes, Rexie and I reckon you have."

 

"And, well, I've got something I'd like to talk over with you. Really get your opinion on it."

 

“Oh?” The King knocks twice on the table. “Lay it on me.”

 

Six leans forward and props her elbows on the table just under her bust. "Are you sure? It might be important..." It's another cheap trick, but even so he finds a reason to cross his leg over his knee when resettling in his chair.

 

"Ma'am, you have my ear - go!"

 

“Okay. Here it goes," she says, "my team has some pretty big plans in the works. The first thing tomorrow, in fact, we’re off on the campaign to make that happen, but it all starts with remaking New Vegas herself. We have the potential here to change the lives of every citizen in Nevada and make ourselves the strongest nation in the southwest… My problem is local. I'm thinking of pushing for a big change in how the whole city is structured."

 

"Yeah? How big?"

 

"I'm thinking... no more walls between the districts. Let's work together to bring in more tourists and their piles of slippery caps, then use that money how it ought to be used. No more lining the House's pockets. What do you think?"

 

The King laughs and shakes his head. "I think you sound like those bright California cats out of the Fort. What makes you think a bunch of starving idiots from Freeside won't tear the hell out of the Luxe the moment you pry open the gates? People out here have a lot to be bitter about and they aren't likely to use their nice words when you mention it."

 

"I sure understand about holding a grudge, believe me. I know it's going to be a big thing to make this work..." She shrugs and pulls out an opened envelope from her coat. "So I've been checking on some favors."

 

"What's this, now?" says the King, taking it and opening the single piece of paper inside. His eyes whizz back and forth, faster and faster until they run right out of letter and dance thoughtfully across the tabletop. He points at the seal. "You're for sure tellin' me this is for real? That's President Kimball's office."

 

Six nods. "It's all of the original warrants. Every one of your boys can live free and clear for the rest of your lives if you want and the NCR can't so much as spit about it. Probably the last thing I'll ever get Crocker to sign, too."

 

"This is going to require some thinkin'." Sharply, he makes a gesture and the silent bouncer leaves through a side door. Rex, who wags his tail and follows his master's point, slithers through a moment before it snaps shut. The moment they are alone, the change over him is apparent. He sits straighter in his chair, even uncrossing his legs. The drink, which until now has been untouched, appears in his hand. "Tell me what you had in mind."

 

“Now, I like what your boys are doing in Freeside. If someone is being unfair, they take him off the street. If someone needs help, you look after your own. If not for your people and the Followers, Freeside might collapse entirely. To lay it all out, I’d like you and your boys to _continue_ working for the good of New Vegas and what's more, I'm prepared to offer a paycheck at the other end of it for you and your boys. Mr. King... how would you like to be the first Mayor of New Vegas?”

 

The King tilts his head calmly to one side with barely a change of expression. “Mayor, huh? That’s a big, important-sounding job. Sounds like a big headache. To me, Sixie, it sounds better to stay small-time and watch my street corners.”

 

“Okay, _first_ I call bullshit on someone called the 'King' being the type to stay 'small-time'--" The King laughs "--and second... well, look here."

 

She slides close, slipping in right underneath the white blazer. In dramatic holotape style, she holds out her fingers to frame the microphone onstage. "Picture this: you're sitting in a big office in the Lucky 38 meeting with people, solving problems, distributing favors, and so on much like you do today. You've got a couple of secretaries to help you organize, your boys have nice apartments for digs, and you get to be the guy cutting ribbons, getting his picture taken, and shaking every important hand you want for days. Not only that, tourism is good and you get a piece of the budget to boot. It's a pretty big step up for your whole crew, I believe.” She plucks the cherry out of her ice and pops it in her mouth.

 

The King regards her with shrewd eyes and touches the tip of his forefinger to his lips. “That is a mighty... _generous_ offer, there. Let's say I'm interested. What's the worst parts of the job?

 

"Nice, skipping the soft ones." Six ticks off on her fingers. "In a crisis, you have to help out no matter what. Everyone you've ever known will want something from you. You’ll work with my team, of course, as we’ll be taking care of the rest of Nevada, but more importantly…  Agreeing to make you and your boys part of the new community earns you a seat at that table and that means that you can make sure that your interests are heard and your needs are going to be met.

 

"Okay, but... here's the big one. In three weeks, there is going to be a meeting to draft and sign a charter that will make Nevada into the Mojave United. New Vegas is hosting and the place is going to be _packed._ Everyone and their Brahmin is going to be here, filling up hotels, spending their money, and getting  _sloshed_ on good Nevada hooch. It's a hell of a time to be in charge."

 

"What happens if the other tribes aren’t interested? Are you going to try and strongarm them?”

 

“No,” she admits, tucking a strand of hair behind one ear. “I’m not going to force anyone, I’m not the NCR. I just think I have a good product to shop around and most people will see the sense in it... but if there aren’t enough to make it work, then we’ll wash our hands of it and try something new. No hard feelings.”

 

The King nods along to this. Everyone knows how he feels about free will. “Sounds good. Is there a contract you want me to sign, doll, or is this all on the down low?”

 

“I get it,” he says in his smooth old-world twang, “This is a wink-and-a-handshake kind of deal.”

 

Six breathes evenly through her nose and leans across the table again with her arms down to make it blindingly obvious that her blue cotton dress is _very_ thin.  She watches his eyes flick to her collarbone and speaks a little more quietly than before, making him pay close attention to hear her. “I was thinking of something more… _personal_  than a handshake.”

 

“That doesn’t sound half bad,” he murmurs, leaning in so close his lips almost touch hers when he whispers. "Why don't you tell me a little more about it?" 

 

_Oh... oh, he uses expensive aftershave lotion._

 

Six's eyes close to savor the taste of his mouth combined deliciously with the warmth of his strong hand pressed into the small of her back. He knows when to be firm and when to yield, he knows how to use the heat and friction of his touch to make her moan, and when to press his advantage and flick the tip of his tongue across hers to bring up goosebumps. Best of all, he can hold her securely on his lap with one hand and caress her body through the thin dress at the same time. The chills up and down her body are electric and make her feel almost too warm to stay clothed. He must be reading her mind because, with two hands cupped firmly around her ass, he lifts her onto the edge of the little round table.

 

She can feel the heat of his body radiating into hers separated only by polyester slacks and the hem of her skirt. 

 

Six clings to him, but he has to stop kissing her to unzip himself and the pause is like coming up in a stormy sea for breath. She squirms to feel his straining cock slide against her folds and he groans in response. Sure you can breathe, but you’re still adrift in a tumultuous ocean of passion and the cold sheets of rain are coming down like desire, blanketing everything. When he finishes rucking up her dress, he kisses her again and it’s a sweet wave of tequila that burns down her body. The rain has made them slick. They are drowning in it.

 

His hands part her thighs, spreading her open on the table for him to see. His eyes and his fingers find her bare lips dripping with need already, then it is a matter of moments to set his cock against her hot entrance and thrust himself inside. His hard cock enters her with almost no resistance and she moans when he seats himself fully right away. They both pause to breathe and savor the sensation of being wrapped up in each other. He feels flooded with a feeling of satisfaction that her hot walls press on his lusty skin from every angle. Before long, though, the heat rises in them again and the King begins to thrust.

 

Patiently, at first, as though he is testing the strength of the table, or remembering how to use a woman’s body, he moves inside her. His thighs slide against hers, his mouth pants hot breath against her throat. Six throws her arms around his shoulders to keep herself up and locks her ankles around back, to anchor them together, drawing him in more deeply. Neither knows how long they struggle together, but after a time, the King stands straight, still inside her, and throws his white jacket from his shoulders. He unlocks her ankles and pulls them up to brush toes behind his neck before bearing down upon her again, nearly bending her in half.

 

Her hands are like iron on the sides of the table, which rocks dangerously in time with the powerful gyrations of his hips. Every muscle in her body is trembling to hold up their weight and hold back the burning heat coiling in her body. The King grunts with each thrust, now accented by a clatter of metal and the whimpers of Six, laboring to keep the production together. She is slick and tight, pulling the coil to its breaking point. As though sensing her tension, the next thrust of the King’s is angled upward against her walls and she comes undone.

 

“Ffffffuck…” The word comes torn from between her teeth, riding the tremors of her body flooding with pleasure. She can’t see, she can’t hold on, she can only sob dryly and shake in the King’s arms braced on either side of the table. He is similarly incapacitated with eyes squeezed shut and shaking legs. She feels his hot seed fill her, even drip from her sore entrance, and lays her head back on the table with naked relief.

 

 

Offended by their presumption, the small table - normally accustomed to holding two cocktails and maybe a plate of hors’ d'oeuvres at the  _best_ of times - decided to call it quits right then and dumped them on the floor.

 

CRACK

 

Six yelped and threw out her arms, the King jerked them away from the mess of splinters. It's an uncomfortable landing, sure, but Six doesn't get squished and the King is allowed to continue seeing.

 

“Whoops! Are you alright?” She points behind him and laughs. The metal table has bent sideways like a shiny sunflower.

 

“I... (haha!)… hope that’s… ( _whoo-)_ … a good sign!”

 

“These old-world pieces, you know, they’re tricky, Sixie.” He sighs and tucks himself away before standing. She accepts a hand up and he seizes the opportunity to press a kiss on her knuckles. “I hope this means you’ll come around every time you want to discuss policy. It would make the monotony of mayorin' much more exciting.”

 

“I’ll think about it and see if I can pencil you in.” Six winks and straightens her dress. “I'll call you?”

 

The King assures he that his boys will let her walk on in any ol' time she likes and escorts her to the door, like a gentleman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! I am excited to present this second chapter which, hopefully, continues to set the tone for the story ahead. I realize now from a much-appreciated comment that there are probably some fanon assumptions I have about the world of New Vegas that readers might not share, so please allow me to clear up any confusion. 
> 
> 1\. In post-apocalyptic Nevada, most people are going to be functionally illiterate. There are very few canon institutions that educate the general population, so it seems logical to me that most people would be unfamiliar with the specific facts of human pregnancy and conception. (Think about the yahoo!answers type questions we get about pregnancy WITH public education in this day and age, then nuke that world.) Everyone can count to 9 months on their fingers but are those same scavengers/refugees/soldiers/whatever going to be able to accurately identify the difference in complications between a human birth at 37 weeks and one at 42? As a public school educator, I think you might be giving some of my beloved friends too much credit. I mean, Animal Husbandry is a complete degree. It takes some knowledge.
> 
> 2\. There are very few children depicted in the games. I can remember of 5 or so in Freeside and a further 5 or so with the Boomers at Nellis, and though I'm definitely forgetting some, it's still too few offspring to support the next generation of Nevadans without inbreeding a black hole into the gene pool. I'm sure that I am reading too far into it, but sterility from radiation is not unheard of so ANY successful pregnancy in New Vegas must feel like a miracle. (Update: Upon replay, I see there are a few more canon children than I remember. I've decided not to be sorry about this misrepresentation because I have so many worse sins to atone for later on. Mea minima culpa.)
> 
> 3\. I thought I knew when in Fallout: New Vegas this fanfic was supposed to take place, but it's clear that the events in this story's canon are in such an order that the plot doesn't square neatly against them. I invite you to perform whatever mental gymnastics it requires to make this type of ending work out like I have with the help of Mr. Orange Juice and Mrs. Vanilla Vodka. Or, y'know... however you do it. Cheers.
> 
> Thank you for your support! I am happy to answer any questions publicly or not according to your preference so please continue to share your feelings.


	3. THE PROLOGUE WHEREIN Veronica solves problems, Boone gets undressed, and No one opens any mail at all.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The grand plan is launched with a grand speech. It's Grand.

The day of the speech was the nightmare scenario in surviving chaos theory. All day, beginning long before the sun had risen, every member of the team ran back and forth across the Strip with schedules in hand. They secured vendor locations, corrected the placement of a million posters, met with the city’s VIP’s, and rechecked dodgy pre-war power cables. They hadn't worked so hard since President Kimball almost ate a Legion bullet.

 

Six wasn't running around, per se, but she had a plate as full as any. Briefly, she held court in the lobby at 5 AM to answer questions, approve layouts, sign off on payments for contractors, listen to messages, and a thousand other things over the strongest, blackest coffee Lily had ever brewed. Then, she got back in the elevator and sat at her desk for the next 10 hours.

 

In between documents, her friends conferred with the top of her head and slid their pieces of paper under her pen when she caught a moment. A mountain of scrunched up paper and broken pencils surrounded her table in the master bedroom of the Presidential Suite, but no one had yet been allowed to  _read_ her carefully crafted master piece. Just like the rest of New Vegas, they would just have to wait until dusk to hear it.

 

The moment the sun disappeared behind the mountains, the gates of the Strip swung wide and the street that evening was clogged as never before; citizens, soldiers, workers, merchants, and dignitaries alike. Matching black banners depicting glittering, golden pairs of dice hung from every lamppost and sign up and down the Strip, most of which were lit by the neon lights, decorative fires, and floodlights of each casino. The casinos, sensing an opportunity to cash in big on the social event of the year, have gone all out with decorations. In preparation for this event, the streets have been swept, hundreds of light bulbs were replaced in signs, and every door is thrown open, blaring upbeat music sung by the hottest performers. Every stage is booked solid tonight.

 

Just outside Gomorrah, a wooden stall with an enormous pressurized keg of beer bears a banner for the Atomic Wrangler. They aren't the only business selling alcohol tonight, but their line wraps around the block allowing the prostitutes of Gomorrah to flirt shamelessly with all of their waiting customers. It's entirely possible that some people are in line solely for that reason.

 

While casino workers and the general population milled about on the street pregaming, a raised platform to one side of the stage was an area for special guests. The platform bore a dozen or so identical chairs, some of which were already occupied by NCR officials like Colonel Hsu and Ambassador Crocker, but others stood empty waiting for big-name Vegas locals like the King and Julie Farkas who were taking their time walking through the streets with their entourages and meeting with friends. In a chair near the back of the platform sat a thin man in a dark brown suit, whom no one seemed keen to talk to. He didn't bother to initiate conversation with the others, either, so perhaps his attention was simply where his eyes pointed behind his sunglasses, at the stage.

 

At the center of the entire event stood a huge wooden stage anchored to the steps of the Lucky 38. Spotlights dotted the shell and the back was hung all around with dark brown curtains. Glittering dice hang from every surface, so brilliant as to catch the eye from every angle. 

 

On the stage now stands a man in a long trench coat, strumming a guitar. The Lonesome Drifter had gained quite a following in his short tenure at the Tops and, thankfully, he had been only too happy to play warm-up act for the crowd as a favor to the Courier that got him the job. The handsome paycheck he earned for radio play didn’t hurt, either, but he spun his words into an old-fashioned microphone as though his only joy in life was to liven up the night air with song. The microphone piped his husky voice through speakers, jukeboxes, and tinny tavern radios for all of the Mojave to hear. The crowd applauded after every piece, becoming louder and rowdier with every number he performed until... it was time.

 

The neon lights of the casinos  _zinged_ into life, flashing and clashing in their own ways. The Drifter took his final bow and the music faded from the air. The audience filled it with screams and applause, whistles and stamps.

 

The New Vegas Team was ready backstage - well, most of them were, anyway. Cass sat draped in a chair. All day she had run messages, invitations, and reminders of favors on foot across the city so now that her obligations were met, she could rest her aching feet. Boone stood just to one side of the stage with his rifle held in a loose grip, scanning the crowd. He and Six had discussed the seemingly low possibility of violence at this event and while she wanted to show trust by appearing in public without bodyguards, Boone had _insisted_ on being her spotter anyway. The compromise they found was that he would stand just offstage with his rifle at the ready, scanning the crowd for threats but mostly unseen. He stood on his mark now, the loose grip of his fingers belying the tight coil of attention in his arms and shoulders. Outwardly, he appeared calm but inwardly he was ready to spring like a bear trap at the first sign of danger.

 

A few feet away, Raul stood just behind center stage, peeking out through the gap in the dark brown curtains to observe the stage. Hung from a leather strap around Raul’s neck was an enormous mechanical device. He held it horizontally like a cafeteria tray with a long extended antenna pointing straight up. There were several buttons and dials of various sizes that did various mysterious things, but also six important-looking switches all in a row across the top. Just behind him, Lily sits on the stairs of the Lucky 38, disguised by a Stealth Boy. Her favorite job had to help dye all the curtains, stomping energetically on the enormous canvasses in a metal basin to distribute the stain evenly. The bath needed to clean her legs after had been legendary, but now all Boone could see was the distortion of her legs on the steps. Lily was using her addictive technology this evenly only because Six asked her to while Six, fearing that the audience would be frightened by an uncloaked nightkin, had only wanted to protect Lily's feelings when she asked for something so precious.  

 

Neither Veronica nor Six were present yet.

 

“Where is she?” mutters Boone through gritted teeth, looking at the sun disappearing behind the mountains. His watch, an invaluable tool in the 1st Recon, indicates the lateness of their arrival when the hour hand skips over a tiny crack in its face. It's always done that.

 

“Start time was only two minutes ago, compadre,” said Raul in his usual dry manner. “It’s not a real show unless it starts late, you know.”

 

"What is the point of a schedule if no one follows it?" Boone grumbles and as though summoned by his complaint, the front door of the Lucky 38 opens. Veronica emerges and she looks fit to burst with excitement. She gestures with both arms back to the door and trills a loud, cheesy “Ta-da!”

 

Six appears from the dark doorway, unrecognizably dressed to the nines. She is balanced precariously on slender black heels and poured into a perfectly tailored white blouse with a long ribbon under the collar, the likes of which wouldn't look foreign tied around Alice McLafferty's neck. The professional look is completed by a contrasting black jacket and a pair of black slacks with a silver belt. The jacket lies neatly along her chest which not only frames her feminine decolletage but also softens the unfeminine broadness of her shoulders. Courier Six is well-muscled from hauling scrap and weapons across the Mojave for a living, which Boone is led to understand is undesirable in a woman. Her hair has been shaped carefully into rigid, sweeping curls to make her cheekbones look full and soft, but her beautifully painted lips are turned down in an uncomfortable frown.

 

The effect is _stunning_ , thinks Boone, but she looks so unhappy that it hardly matters how amazing she looks.

 

Cass whistles. “Aren't you  _fancy!_ ” she says, the edge in her voice either indicating appreciation or sarcasm. She's too drunk for him to tell.

 

“Thanks,” says Six, sounding as miserable as she looks and tries to walk up to the stage. Teetering badly enough to stumble, she peeks out through the curtains and mutters to herself, but she doesn’t make a move to step up the stairs and go through herself. Boone can see that her hands are shaking on the canvas. The team all looks at one another. 

 

“Everything is ready, boss,” says Raul gently. “All we need is the go ahead.”

 

“I can’t do this.”

 

Boone’s eyebrows disappear up into his red felt beret.

 

“I can’t do _this!_! What was I thinking??” The words are spilling out of her mouth, tripping on one another like her feet trip in heels. Her whole body is shaking now, making her stiff hair tremble in time with her too-quick breaths. “This is the stupidest plan I’ve ever thought up and now we’ve gone and invited all of these _people_ and we can’t back out now, but I look ridiculous and I can’t walk… and… and...”

 

“Six,” says Veronica, cutting across her nonsense and holding her firmly by the shoulders. “This isn’t you. That’s why it’s hard. You aren’t pretty dresses and makeup. You aren’t smiling and waving and kissing babies and cutting deals… but that’s what it’s going to take to get the job done.” Veronica smiles and shakes her a little. “And that’s exactly why you _can_ do it. You’re the kind of person who does what they have to in order to get good results, even if it’s hard. You can _absolutely_ do this.”

 

Courier Six breathes hard and looks around at the others gathered backstage who variously nod in support. A sparkle of moisture clings to her blackened eyelashes and Boone watches her throat work to suppress a groan. Her eyes linger on his for a moment that surprises him into standing up straighter. At last, she nods and seems to come back to herself, tapping her toe on the street and looking around.

 

“Ok… ok. You're right. Of course, you're right. Let's see... Get me my trench coat and…” she looks at the ground in a wide circle around, observing everyone's shoes. “Boone, give me your boots."

 

"Yep," he says, leaning down to unlace them immediately. 

 

"Here, take this stupid jacket," she says, draping it around Raul's shoulders and sending Arcade to fetch her grungy leather duster. The old stage performer laughs to himself as though her costume change is a joke to which only he remembers the punchline. Boone doesn't get it, but he hands over his shoes anyway. Six steps into them and laces them the fast way, craning over his arm to peek at the time. "Okay, we're not too late, I guess."

 

"Not much," he mumbles, feeling strangely reticent about his earlier impatience.

 

Six is rearranging her belt to suit this new fashion. "Oh, one more thing for my hair. How about your…” her eyes flick up to Boone's head, but he steps back at once.

 

“I like my hat,” he says firmly.

 

“It’s only for this speech," she says, rolling her eyes. "You know I’ll give it right back. Please?”

 

Everyone is looking curiously at him and Six. He looks at her face again, so resolute it was as though she could see the eyes behind his shades perfectly well. With a twisted grimace, he takes the red beret from his shaven head and gives it to her. She carefully sets it atop her coiffed hair and pins it in place, then Arcade returns with her ragged leather duster. If it were a piece of military gear, thinks Boone, it would have been honorably burned  _years_ ago. It's not even all the same color of brown anymore, it's missing patches of hem altogether... but on the other hand...

 

When she puts it on, it's clear why she only needs to bear the name Courier Six. Something about her confidence in this unique look, especially when topped by Boone's red felt beret, could be seen for miles as unmistakably the presence of the leader of New Vegas. She looks like a person who crawled their way out of a grave to right some wrongs.

 

At long last, she turns to mount the stairs. With her usual brisk efficiency, she nods at Raul, who adjusts a few dials on his machine and gives her a smiling thumbs up. Boone retakes his gun and moves back to his mark. Even Lily resettles her invisible self with a sign of anticipation. The brown curtains light up and Arcade’s recorded voice booms out, “And now, ladies and gentlemen, I present to you… the Mojave Legend… the Guardian of the Wastes… the friend of the people and that _Paragon_ of _Virtue_ … heeeeeere’s Courier Six!”

 

The crowd cheers wildly for his hilarious announcer imitation and Raul pushes a new button which releases red sparklers on either side of the stage. At the height of their excitement, Courier Six strides out with long, confident steps but nary a wave or nod of the head to the people who are bruising their hands to welcome her. People are jostling one other to be at the front of the throng, closest to the stage so they can shout greetings and compliments when she reaches the microphone, dangerously close to their grasping hands. Boone’s trigger finger dares any of them to reach out and actually _touch_ her, God help them. From this angle, though, Boone can also see how her simply dressed figure stands out against the neutrally colored backdrop curtains and he gives a begrudging mental nod to Arcade for his good taste. She is easy to see this way.

 

“Citizens of New Vegas,” she says warmly, extending her hands in a visible welcoming gesture. Like magic, the wave of human noise quiets. Raul’s brilliant amplifiers deliver her words in every direction, then an echo throws them back, quieter in the silence of her pauses. It seems like the buildings of the Strip are speaking in response to this little woman and her powerful microphone. “I come before you today with a dream; a vision... for the future.” Her words are invigorated now; her shoulders thrown back. “Too long have we lived as a nation divided, scattered across the desert like so many twigs, waiting to be crushed under the heel of bigger nations. Too long have we focused on the things that set us apart, rather than the qualities that bring us together. Do we not all love our families? Do we not all want the best for our lives and our communities?  If you strike us, do we not strike back? If you cut us, do we not bleed?”

 

The crowd shouts their agreement, splashing and drinking their beer together.

 

“My people!” she says, eliciting another enthusiastic roar, “I hear you! I hear you cry out for more! More from your life! More from each other! More from _yourselves._ Well, I am here to tell you that together… together, we can _become_ more!”

 

She gestures grandly up and behind her to the wide disk of the Lucky 38 and shouts, “Shelter!”

 

Behind the curtain, Raul flips the first switch. From the extreme left side of the disk, a bright red banner unfurls with a deep sound of heavily falling cloth. It is _enormous_ , not only wider than two men standing abreast but also long enough to stretch its opulence from the floor of the Lucky 38's famous cocktail lounge all the way down to snap and flutter just above the wooden stage on the street where Six stands. She allows her people a long moment to observe the banner's size and decoration clearly because embroidered in gold upon it is the outline of an adobe house with a tiled roofspelled out beneath in all capital letters. The huge cloth is too heavy to flutter in the breeze like a flag, but it does sway hypnotically, reflecting sparkles of gold and a warm red glow from several bright flood lights pointed down at it.

 

“Medicine!”

 

Raul flips the second switch and now a similarly huge emerald green banner unfurls from the extreme right of the disk. Embroidered in gold upon it is the ancient symbol of a snake curled around a doctor’s stick. Here, the stick has become a glittering golden femur that shimmers twinkling light down on the crowd like a disco ball. The crowd is riveted and their cheers are joined by stomps and whistles.

 

“Education!”

 

A royal purple banner drops next to the red one, beginning to fill the enormous space. It's embroidery might be the most elaborate of all the banners' because its gold depiction of a book is detailed to look like the kind of handsome leather-bound volumes pre-war lawyers loved to display on their shelves. 

 

“Security!”

 

Right. Black.  A spear and rifle crossed.

 

“Water!”

 

Dark blue with three wavy lines universally understood to represent water.

 

“And Bread.”

 

Directly behind her, the final bronze banner drops to unveil a sheaf of golden wheat. All six banners, heavy though they are, sway dynamically in the constant breeze of the higher air. With the lights shining upon them the pictures seem to breathe and move, perhaps. The audience applauds, encouraged by another burst of red fireworks from Raul, then begins to point up towards the disk. Several people notice that in addition to the impressive device embroidered in gold on each banner, there are also letters which spell out MOJAVE across the top and UNITED across the bottom.

 

“These are the promises of the Mojave United! These will be your basic rights as citizens!  _This_ is what we will work for each and every day, your life's _necessities_.” She speaks with renewed vigor, reaching around the microphone as though to pull the crowd up onstage with her. “Three weeks from today, we will host a congress here, at the Lucky 38, to write and sign a charter. Together, we will write this charter to establish the priorities and values of our community, as well as guarantee the rights and privileges due to every citizen in our nation. Send your representatives here to ensure that your voice is heard. The Lucky 38. Three weeks from now. Together, we can do more. Together, we can _be_ more. Together, we are the Mojave United! United we stand! United we stand!”

 

At this, Raul twiddles a final dial and a rainbow of sparklers erupts from either side of the stage showering the people of New Vegas in glittering lights. They take up her chant on their own, throwing their fists into the air while they shout, “United we stand! United we stand!”

 

She holds her arms wide and says brightly into the microphone, “Thank you, New Vegas!”

 

The people scream. Some are still chanting, stomping, and clapping along but many more are waving their hands and calling her name, sloshing beer over their neighbors in their frenzy. They shower her with gifts thrown upon the stage, skipping bottlecaps off the wood to land at her feet, but also casino chips and (oddly) panties. Six takes this in stride, not stooping to pick anything up, but waving to each section of the crowd, who only work themselves up into a greater furor when she does, before finally turning and disappearing back through the curtains.

 

Veronica pulls her into a tight hug, then sends her back out again when they begin to chant her name. “Courier Six! Courier Six!” Boone watches her walk back out and indicate the several open casinos where the party can continue, then leans over at the edge of the stage to shake hands with the _entire_  front row. After several long, agonizing minutes, she bows one final time and returns backstage so Boone can remember to breathe. His fingers ache from gripping his rifle all this time.

 

“I think they like it,” she says breathlessly, smiling widely enough to split her face in half. Veronica rushes forward to hug her, squealing "You did it! You did it!" right in her ear. Raul thumps her on the back and even Lily yells, "HOORAY!" before remembering that she has to be quiet.

 

“That was _amazing_. It went off with almost no hitch! I know we all should probably be out celebrating how  _awesome_ that was but... no! No partying tonight!” says Veronica, pointing at Cass, who had just left her seat to go mix it up in the crowd. “We have a long walk tomorrow! We can have a drink when we've all packed - one drink! - but then, we have to be responsible. Cass, Arcade, are you ready to go? Raul and Boone, you're in charge down here.”

 

"Yes!" said Arcade louder than his teammate's complaints. "We are  _absolutely_  ready to load up the crates and bags." He marches Cass inside straight away promising her an extra-special celebratory drink when their job is done.

 

“Yep," said Boone more quietly, accepting his boots back from Six. She picked up her black pumps from the step and held them in her hand rather than suffer through wearing such an indignity again. "Your part's done, right?"

 

"Almost," she said dreamily. Devoid of the electric, inspiring resonance she employed at the microphone not five minutes ago, her voice just sounded sleepy and unfocused now. "Couple of important people to talk to... then bed." Six smiles at him and touches his shoulder with a soft squeeze.

 

His pulse jumped. "Sounds like a plan," he said tightly, still feeling the warmth of her hand on his t-shirt, though she's taken it back already. "Goodnight, then. If I don't see you."

 

She laughed and actually hugged his arm _harder_. "You're funny!"

 

"If you think so?" he says, managing not to choke from panic.His left arm is actually _trapped_ against her body, still hot from the stage lights, and he has no idea how to disengage. If he pulls his arm away, she might not let go and then his hand would have to feel up her _entire_ front, probably groping _both_ breasts on the way. He might actually  _die_ of humiliation if she screamed at him for touching her body that way. Should he try to hug her back? He can only reach far enough to pat her head, which seems inappropriate... 

 

Suddenly, Raul cut the lights on the stage. "Are you ready, Lily?” he said in his scratchy, ghoulish voice.

 

Lily stands, her disruptive Stealthboy field moving from the stairs to right behind the brown canvas curtains of the stage. “YES, SWEETHEART, GRANDMA CAN GET IT DONE!”

 

Somewhere in Boone's distraction, Six released him and left without his notice. The door to the Lucky 38 thuds closed quietly, too late to see if it was her.

 

Boone set up some yellow tape around the stage area so Lily could dismantle the stage, curtains, lights, and pyrotechnic bases in peace. Raul made sure everything was labeled correctly, held the door open for her so she could store them right in the cashier's cage for them to deal with when the team returned to New Vegas in three weeks.

 

True to his word, he didn't see her again before she went to bed. The door to the master suite was shut and locked long before he staggered into the men's bedroom and kicked off his boots. It isn't until he stretched out on the crinkly hotel mattress that he realized... Six didn’t give his back hat.

 

...and maybe he doesn't hate that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me so far! 
> 
> Each story I write, I endeavor to improve something about it. Obviously, I care about improving my writing but I am also interested in supporting the Ao3 community around fanfiction writers. In my last story, I learned to ask for comments because hearing from readers is what rekindles my motivation to write. This story, it will be responding to those comments so please, if you like it, love it, hate it, or if you have any questions at all, let me know and I will put my effort into replying to you.
> 
> Thank you!


	4. THE CHAPTER WHEREIN Arcade shakes a tree, Six is unnecessarily optimistic, and Veronica swears to GOD she will PULL THIS MISSION OVER, RIGHT NOW!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out, a diplomatic tour in post-apocalyptic Nevada involves quite a lot of walking. The introduction to the Khans goes... not so well.

 

"Okay, team," says Six planting her hands on her hips and looking at all of her friends flopped by the side of the road. “Is everyone ready? This is going to be the fun part of today!”

 

"That's what you said this morning," said Veronica crossly from the shade. "I recall the last 'fun part' a little differently, I guess."

 

All morning, Veronica had graciously agreed to be the leader of their little party, taking it upon herself as the 'point' to navigate reliably while setting the kind of walking pace that Adults choose when they are trying to Arrive On Time at Locations. She was happy to do it, obviously. From the moment they left the walls of New Vegas, however, she was annoyingly beset by anguished reports of gruesome foot injuries, strangled gasps for a water break only five minutes after the last water break, offers of possessions left to other teammates in their wills if they so happened to die of heatstroke... and so on and so forth for _hours._

 

 _Ok, fine,_ Veronica thought. _I get it._  The Mojave is very scenic. They were surrounded on all sides by some of the wildest and most dangerous landscape in the world. V remembered seeing pictures of the surface in class as an initiate but... it is also very homogenous. If you’ve seen one beautiful sunrise over the desert mountains, you’ve seen them all, according to Arcade. Same thing with the unusual, hardy vegetation. Same thing with the impressively jagged mountains. It just didn't  _change_ for so long...

 

...and then the children got bored.

 

It was only after Raul began an  _unending_ song about an ant who got lost in the desert on the way back to his burrow and tripped over EVERY SINGLE THING IN EXISTENCE, ONE VERSE AT A TIME that Veronica called a sanity-break for lunch.

 

"No," said Six confidently. "This part is  _much_ more fun than getting out of the city. Welcome to Red Rock Canyon!" She turned dramatically and opened her arms wide like a showgirl presenting a new car as the jackpot.

 

Chewing on a mouthful of egg salad sandwich, Veronica looked ahead and saw that the landscape had finally, FINALLY begun to change. It must have been quite slow for them not to notice that the road looked like it was veering onto an alien planet. First, a few tints of rusty red colored the loose rocks on the path, then the ground itself looked like a melting yellow ribbon floating on bright red rocks with a texture like Brillo Pads, and then finally, just ahead, the paved road was swallowed by a rocky byway as vibrant as a rainbow, swirling and twisting up to the dusky sky. Despite herself, Veronica wanted to hurry up and see more.

 

Arcade, meanwhile, had been digging through his black messenger bag and began pulling things out. "Okay, we have a map of the trail and a location to meet... Does everyone have flashlights?"

 

"What for?" said Cass. "It's the middle of the day!"

 

"Yeah, but the hike is, like, 6 hours long from here, Rosita," Raul said, passing out headlamps on thin leather bands. He intended them to be tied on for climbing over boulders at night.

 

She took hers and sourly stuffed it in her pocket. "Don't call me that."

 

"We're all set!" Six trilled. Her headlamp was already tied on, holding back the many flyaway hairs that have already escaped her long, black braid. "Wait, who has the gifts?"

 

“I’VE KEPT THEM SAFE, SWEETHEART,” booms Lily, indicating a huge crate tied onto her back with a sturdy rope sling. There being no backpack yet made to withstand the musculature of Lily's shoulders, Raul and Cassidy had gotten this idea from the way caravaneers tied barrels and trunks onto pack brahmin and then they just modified it to suit Lily's arms and legs instead of a cow's. Their latest experiment with it looked a little suspect still, but the crate held an incredible number of supplies for not much volume overall, so it was worth it to invest the time in perfecting their technique.

 

“Good. Can someone check that they're still divided up by location?”

 

Veronica was giving Cass an easy power-armor boost to do just that when suddenly, Boone’s arm pointed swiftly up and to the south.

 

“There, in the archway… A flash like binoculars.”

 

“Good,” said Six again, shading her eyes to look but lacking Boone's keen eyesight found it to be a pointless gesture. “The scouts will have found us. We shouldn’t keep them waiting.” She grinned anyway and led them off the paved road onto a sandy trail that disappeared over the rolling, rocky hills.

 

xXx

 

Hours later, Arcade and Six decided that they had arrived at the meeting place. The sun was long gone and everyone's headlamps rose and fell in time with their exhausted breaths. Even with their detailed map, early start, best shoes, and functioning headlamps the New Vegas team had taken quite a bit longer than 6 hours to reach the remote, well-hidden picnic table with a ferocious red and yellow face, the symbol of the Great Khans, painted on its surface.

 

“Go ahead, Lily,” said Six quietly, not wanting to be the one to break the night's gentle atmosphere.

 

Lily planted her feet and reminded everyone why she didn’t get into screaming matches anymore. “NOW APPROACHES COURIER SIX, AMBASSADOR OF THE MOJAVE UNITED!!” she roared in a thundering voice that could shatter glass. “WE COME BEARING GIFTS AND FRIENDSHIP!!”

 

“Nice job,” said Six, patting her on the elbow, the easiest place to reach from her tired slump.

 

“We’ll just alert every Legionary in the state,” said Boone through gritted teeth. Everyone ignored him.

 

If the Khans were put off by this, they didn’t show it. They waited in their honor guard formation until the team was in regular-person-speaking-range, then held out their arms. Looking curiously at each other, the team did the same and the Khans took their entire forearms in hand, shaking at the elbow. Arcade looked alarmed.

 

“Welcome, honored guests,” said the leader of the group, a middle-aged man with a stern expression who wore his hair shaved into a mohawk. His leather jacket was ripped and dirty, an indication of a person who wasn’t afraid to get into a quick tussle. “I am Regis, advisor, chief enforcer of the laws, and right hand of Papa Khan. We will show you to the Gers that has been prepared for you, then Papa would like you to join him for dinner. All of you,” he clarified, looking around at the motley crew. A few of the young Khans with him were clearly impressed by Lily’s size up close. They had probably never seen an uncloaked nightkin before.

 

“We are honored to accept your hospitality,” replied Six promptly. “We have brought gifts for the tribe. Would dinner be an appropriate time to present them?”

 

“No,” he said firmly, but not unkindly. He just seemed like a man who was ‘on-duty’ at every hour of the day. “Tomorrow is to be a day of celebration. Presenting them then would be better. Follow me.”

 

As they all walked further into Red Rock, Cass sidled up beside Veronica. “Aren’t we overdoing it?” she whispered, “All of the ‘honor’ and ‘we have gifts’ and announcing ourselves and shit? Can’t we just say ‘hi’?”

 

Veronica shook her head. “It’s a big deal with the Khans. If they feel we aren’t showing them enough respect, they’ll never listen to us and we might not even be allowed to stay.”

 

Meanwhile, Six walked beside Regis. “You're becoming quite the political agitator,” he commented, offhandedly. “I can't say I'm displeased.”

 

"It comes naturally," she said with a chuckle, "I take it you heard the speech?"

 

"I don't know that there's any tribe in the Mojave that didn't."

 

“Well, it’s important to stick together, now more than ever," she said more formally. "It’s starting to feel like war is the new normal, but it isn’t making anyone’s lives better.”

 

Regis walked silently for a moment. “Why are you really here? It’s because you want something, but what?”

 

The Courier almost laughed again. “Direct, aren’t you?” Regis only shrugged, so she went on. “Of course I want something. Isn’t that what diplomacy is all about; a little mutual back scratching? Believe it or not, though, I wasn’t lying about why I’m here; I think joining together into one nation will make us stronger and make it possible for us to help each other better.”

 

Regis grunted. At the word ‘nation’, his shoulders tightened noticeably. This obviously wasn't a man concerned about hiding his thoughts, so the idea that he would be holding something back was significant. She took a stab in the dark at allaying any misgivings. “We’re not planning on being a subordinate nation of the NCR. We want their business and their tourists, sure, but they really shouldn’t have any say in what we do.”

 

That didn’t seem to ease his tension. Six tried talking about recent developments in the city and asking about the situation in the Khan’s lives, but Regis just didn’t seem interested in talking anymore. The walk became uncomfortably quiet but fortunately, it didn’t last very long.

 

As they approached the main encampment, more and more Khans joined the entourage, people whom Six felt obliged to greet and shake hands. Most were less stiff than Regis and flitted among the team with interest while others were obviously reserving judgment. Cass and Veronica were quickly surrounded by an eager group of brash youths while Raul, Arcade, and some older Khans engaged in an in-depth gripe. A few children decided that swinging from Lily’s arms was the best entertainment they’d had in forever and she gleefully obliged them with "grannyback rides", throwing them over her shoulder to sit on the enormous crate. Everyone found someone with whom to acquaint themselves except for Boone, whose dark scowl the Khans seemed to be giving a wide berth.

 

Red Rock Canyon was a maze of twisting rocks and precariously stacked boulders, but in its depths, the Khans had found a well-protected hideaway to secret their main base. The sharp cliffs on three sides were high and imposing, impossible to scale without correct equipment and years of expertise. A few pre-war structures like stairs and concrete slabs remained intact, but the white canvas Gers, rough-hewn log fences, and brightly painted Khan banners were the primary features of camp in every direction. Several campfires burned with creosote branches, the thick smoke of which floated easily up the rock walls and was carried away by the wind over the cliffs. Regis led them to a clean looking Gers and held open the flap for them to enter. Its circular walls and high posts allowed space for even Lily to stand upright without feeling crowded.

 

“Unpack your things here,” said Regis. “I’ll be back in 15 minutes to take you to Papa Khan.”

 

And so it was. The team just had time to lay out bedrolls (the bottom of Lily’s poked outside the tent) and scrub some of the desert off their faces when Regis returned (this time without an entourage) and led them to a pre-war ranch house. The air had cooled significantly after the sun went down and the smoke curling from the chimney looked inviting.

 

Inside, the longhouse was toasty warm and packed with noisy Khans eating and drinking. The tables were arranged in a long ‘U’ with people sitting both inside and outside the shape. The space at each tip of the U contained several platters of food, roasted meats, cooked and chopped vegetables, rough flatbread that looked to have been baked on a hot stone over a fire, and many, many bottles of beer submerged in cold ice water. Regis walked to the high table at the bend and sat beside a stoic man wearing a thick fur over his broad shoulders. The broad man was eating dark meat right off the bone and drinking deeply from a metal mug. On his other side sat a handsome black man in a red shirt and leather vest picking at his plate without much interest.

 

Six, correctly assuming that the man wearing fur was Papa Khan, strode confidently up to the table opposite him and offered him her hand to shake. “Chief Khan,” she said in what she hoped was a confident, leaderly voice, “We are honored by the hospitality of your people.” Everyone in the longhouse paused to watch.

 

Papa Khan was an older man, probably in his late 50’s, and clearly not in a hurry to demonstrate his position. He finished chewing his bite of meat and leaned back in his chair, brushing crumbs from his chest. “So…” he said in a deep voice that felt like the grumbles of the vast boulders in his canyon, “The cub has entered the wolf’s den. What do you want, cub?” He did not acknowledge nor move to accept her hand.

 

Six worked to hide her shock and withdrew her hand. “We represent the interests of the people of Nevada, which includes all tribes in the Mojave. The threat of Caesar’s legion grows every day and unless all peoples work together, we will be crushed by the pincer of his army and the NCR both.”

 

“Don't you dare mention the NCR under this roof!” exploded a Khan from down the table. “They are butchers without honor, killers of women and children!” Other Khans yelled and pounded the table in agreement. Boone stiffened but stopped himself from speaking.

 

Papa Khan held up one hand and the Khans instantly resettled themselves. “This is one opinion; the opinion of one who is unfamiliar with the history of the Khans,” he said, smoothly. "We have a long, sordid history of accepting overtures of friendship with city dwellers. I assume you are unfamiliar with how we came to live in this barren canyon?"

 

“Not so,” said Six right away, gesturing for Arcade to come and stand beside her. “We know how Mr. House pushed you out of your own homes in the city 14 years ago and the more recent massacre at Bitter Springs.”

 

Arcade chimed in, “We have studied many records of your encounters raiding caravans settlements and also seen the effect of your drug routes on…”

 

“So you’ve done your homework,” said Papa Khan, not sounding particularly impressed, “but what is it you want from us? As you obviously know, we have been betrayed by city folk before... wanting something from us and then gunning us down, women and children alike. What do you have to offer us that would satisfy the trust of my people?”

 

Six opened her mouth, but no sound came out. All the words were there, practiced for hours on the road, but now that she was staring down at the big man himself, everything seemed wholly inadequate. Who was she to think that this wild tribe could be quietly cowed into domestic life? His sneer choked the words right out of her.

 

A long silent minute passed where Six stood silently, trying to make the words come out.

 

“Come on, Six,” whispered Arcade, nudging her with his elbow to get her started again.

 

“Has the wolf eaten her tongue?” sneered the man on Papa’s left. A ripple of laughter passed through the Khans. Even Papa smiled unpleasantly, crossing his arms and waiting.

 

“No!” said Six, a little too loudly. “What we offer you is what was taken from you all those years ago. We offer you an alliance; citizenship. We want to work _with_ you… not _against_ you. The NCR wants to make you their service dogs. Caesar’s legion wants to make you their slaves. But we? We want to make you our Partners!”

 

The team beamed at Six. This is exactly the way they planned it to go, they all thought, but then Papa Khan began to laugh; a pointed, condescending laugh. “Hah! The Great Khans will not be slaves. Caesar himself has promised us the land from here to the Colorado and the freedom to raid as we see fit. See here, his emissary sits among us now.” Papa Khan gestured to his left and Six felt a hard lump form in her throat.

 

“My name is Karl,” said the handsome black man, preening and looking highly pleased with the unhappy expressions of the team. “Glorious Caesar has sent me as an emissary to the Great Khans as a token of our alliance.” This is said with great aplomb, which makes all of the Khans present look well satisfied with the state of things, but this didn’t have the same effect on the former First Recon sniper.

 

“DOG OF CAESAR!” roared Boone, throwing his gun aside and surging forward. Veronica and Raul both had to grab his arms to keep him from jumping straight onto the table and decking the man.

 

“Take a walk, Boone,” said Courier Six, her previously authoritative manner somewhat restored.

 

“But…” grits out Boone, nearly strangled by the weight of pulling against his teammates. “He…”

 

“Take. A. Walk.”

 

He went limp at once. V and Raul released him tentatively, but he didn’t jump back into action. He said,“Yep,” bitterly then turned and stalked right out of the longhouse, slamming the door behind him. The house itself seemed to sigh with relief.

 

Six turned back to Papa Khan, who seemed more amused than angered, and began to smooth the situation over immediately. “I apologize for my teammate’s behavior. We have had a long journey and I think the… surprise was more than he could handle.”

 

“Ha! It’s good to know that _someone_ on your team has some guts!” he said, banging his fist putatively on the table. Six felt Cass bristle behind her but she kept her eyes respectfully on Papa. He grinned and stood, finally extending his hand to shake hers and said, “Be welcome. Tomorrow, maybe we can see what the rest of you are made of.” 

 

Six had to blink and swallow before she remembered to smile and extend her hand in kind. Papa Khan wasn’t only broad in the shoulder, he was also extremely tall. It wasn’t obvious while he was sitting, but now… she felt dwarfed. She wonders if she should try shaking his hand with  _both_ of hers to ensure she applies enough force to the action, but he quickly catches her right elbow with his hand and clasps their arms against one another. His muscular trunk of a forearm made Six's feel like a _twig_ against his when with a sudden realization, her heart became a lump of lead in her chest. She could only look at Arcade and confirm with a shared glance what he had determined already, that these Khans were using a Roman style of handshake.

 

“Thank you,” she said.

 

 _We’re fucked_ , she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I the only one who looks through a "finished" chapter and sees at the last second that NONE of the tenses in it agree with one other? Every chapter, man.
> 
> WHEN WE COME BACK, the Team interacts with the Khans, the Readers will leave kudos and comments, and the Author will panic about deadlines. 
> 
> ::Oooooh, deadlines!::
> 
> Quick aside, anyone familiar with the SCA will notice some familiar overtones in this chapter. That's... not an accident but I'm still not sorry. I promise we'll get to the stuff I'm sorry about.


	5. THE CHAPTER WHEREIN Jerry can't fly, and Six can't swim, but Arcade can act.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The NVTeam has to do a little reconnaissance and build some interpersonal relationships, so Six gets to worry about what to say to Papa Khan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi kids, I’m going to peel back the mystical curtain that divides the creative process from the product for a second. If you don’t like that, maybe skip this author’s note. I hate this chapter. I struggled and struggled to find some kind - ANY KIND - of balance between setting up important information and characters for future chapters, keeping the plot moving while reading and rereading semi-believable dialog to make it sounds exactly how the characters would. I’ve tried cutting some out. I’ve tried writing enough for two chapters and splitting it up. Believe me, I realize just how long its taken for this chapter to appear, especially after how easily the last one went up, but I was INVOLVED in the struggle. I thoroughly believe that the struggle of this chapter was necessary and beneficial and the product, while nowhere near perfect, will be enough of a testament to my neurotic, anxious, perfectionist self to prove that this story is worth continuing.
> 
> I don’t have to like it, though.
> 
> This is part of the absolutely essential buildup for the end of the first act: where the characters overcome their first real obstacle. It gives them fuel and confidence to continue through the second act, where the stakes have to be raised. (I watch a lot of screenwriting analyses on Youtube. Sorry Not Sorry.) Where it gets difficult is keeping everything meaningful. Not having too much transition; making conversations count. I think if I put too much together, a lot gets lost in a quick read. Spread it out too far, and the pacing suffers. 
> 
> Anyway; I'm not sure if I'm sharing my difficulty with other writers, or just kvetching to make myself feel better. Let's move on, shall we?

Everything is dark and cold. Above, the stars twinkle, but they are singing far away, barely audible. 6 feet farther away than usual, which is an unfortunately specific measurement. The quiet song of the stars is broken by a handful of faceless men above her, long dark limbs and oddly quirking faces blending weirdly with the night sky. They grow more ominous with each twitch of the head as though the men are talking together but through a thick, dampening cloud that slows their words.

 

She’s been here before. She’s seen this sky. These stars will be burned into her eyes forever, their angles frozen with her last breath, infinitely stretched. She tries to raise her hand or call out but as it happened in life, she cannot. She can only lay still with her limbs twisted under her useless, potato-sack body and look with her eyes frozen open in terror. The world throbs in time with her head, preemptively seeping stale blood onto the hard, cold floor of dirt. The ending is no mystery, is it? No, there's only one way out.

 

The man in the checkered jacket raises his shining handgun, lit strikingly by a flash of red from the tip of his expensive cigarette. Knowing what’s coming, she tries to turn her head to block out the noisome sound of his parting words but they echo searingly in her grave, seeming to come from the dark shadows in its corners.

 

“...truth is, the game was rigged from the start.”

 

His bullet feels like nothing… but the _dirt_. Oh, the dirt! Shovelful after shovelful is thrown on top of her, while she lies helpless and choking on it. Unable to blink it out of her stinging eyes. It’s the dirt that’s the worst. It’s like swimming through concrete with lead weights for hands. Barely a finger twitch can she manage before the weight of it presses down, pushing her mouth closed, filling her nostrils and grinding into her eyes. Just as she finally gets the desperate strength to scream…

 

...Six wakes up.

 

She is in a Khan Gers, alone. The air feels still with the tent flap closed as it is, warm enough to make one sleepy but Six isn’t going to sleep at all anymore. She closes her eyes and presses her palms into them, intensifying the darkness with sparkles until they throb and she lets go. The others must be up and working already, bless them. A bucket of water stands ready with a tin ladle, so she rolls out of her sleeping bag and splashes some on her face. A whole dipperful goes over her head, splashing down her bare back and making her shudder.

 

The nightmares are just as real now as they were a year ago. Six was hoping that as time went on they would become less visceral or at least less intense, but no luck. Each morning after she relives her burial, she just has to put them from her mind and wait for the adrenaline to subside. Forcing herself to breathe slowly and calmly, she throws on her flannel and jeans, then looks around the Gers while she finishes waking up.

 

It's a pretty big space, actually, tall enough at the center for even a nightkin to stand up all the way. There's enough floorspace that six standard-sized bedrolls can lay without touching and Lily only has to stick her feet out the side of the tent a little to fit! Her crate has the lid loosely placed on it near the center. Boone’s rifle is gone from the tent, as is Raul’s bandolera. The Khans _outside_ the longhouse last night mentioned a tradition of holding shooting competitions in addition to lifting and wrestling and _drinking_ matches as a chance to show off before the initiation rites of new tribe members. Then, there would be a delicious feast to celebrate, and the Khans expected to party hard late into the night.

 

Six imagines that her team will assign themselves to appropriate events without trouble. They're all here to have fun and make friends now. Her job is very different. She has to be Courier Six the Ambassador of the Mojave United. She needs to figure out how to be charming and earn Papa Khan's respect so that she can _convincingly_ steer him out of dangerous Legion Machinations… and she has no idea how to do that.

 

The Great Khans are a famously insular tribe. _It’s hard to blame them_ , Six thinks, sweeping her hair back and securing it into a red felt beret with a long pin. _They’ve had an uneasy, violent history with the rest of the Vegas valley_. Too many massacres created a constant cultural paranoia that compels them to move from place to place; nomadic and self-sufficient like their namesakes. Six and her team must seem like the latest in a long succession of powerful, elitist tribes with whom diplomacy could be a boon or a bane, completely independent of their actions. They must feel like toys, thrown about by the big children on the playground. There has to be a way to show them that the Mojave United will be different... That's what she needs, to  _show_ them.

 

She finally pulls on her trademark leather duster and ties on some boots. No one is here to tell her whether she looks presentable or not, so Six summons up an air of confidence and strides out of the tent boldly pretending that she doesn’t care about unkempt hair at all.

 

Today’s games are in full swing. Every Great Khan is dressed in their best-polished leathers and covered themselves in shining jewelry of gold, brass, iron, and bone, all gleaming with care. Many revelers have carefully spiked their hair or transformed its color with a fresh coat of bright powder. Neon seems to be a favorite hair color among the handful of Khan children who can then be seen by their parents from the other side of camp. Most of the camp at this time is gathered around the fighting pit, sitting on top of the wooden fenceposts of the arena or hanging from the rock ledge above by clinging to the staked ropes of swaying Gers. Both options look dangerous and it doesn't help that the Khans scream maniacally whenever someone loses their grip and falls alarmingly to the rock floor below. Neither does anyone seem particularly concerned about whether a fallen friend gets up or not; at best a few are rolled out of the walkways and onto their side as a courtesy. It seems casually brutal to Six who knows her friends would do more for each other.

 

A familiar scream echoes up through the canyon followed by a _slam_ that rocks the wooden stakes. Casually, as though she isn’t dying to see her friend that caused the noise, Six walks up the slope towards the longhouse and glances over the fighting pit's fence.

 

Uncloaked Lily is barely visible under a pile of shirtless Khans, all hanging on with bulging muscles and complex leg holds, and they seem to be having the time of their lives scrabbling to remain on her thick blue skin. It seems like an immense burden, but Lily’s Nightkin body is sturdier, heavier, and stronger than any other creature in the Wasteland and Six doubts she even notices their weight. Two or three Khans will manage to reach the ground and try to use their combined weight to pull Lily off balance but she, easily weighing as much as three brahmin, will fling her body weight to one side and launch one rocketing towards the wooden fence. “HANG ON TIGHT, SWEETHEART!” she bellows, laughing insanely.

 

“It’s been going on for almost an hour,” says Cass dryly. She has come up behind Six with a strangely neutral-smelling cup in her hand.

 

“Good,” replies Six, pretending that she wasn’t startled. “What’s that?”

 

“Water,” says Cass, grimacing. “The drinking later is supposed to be _intense_ so Raul and I are… well, we’re not pre-gaming, that’s for sure.”

 

“Mmph. All right. What else is happening today? Have I missed much?”

 

She sips her water. “Nah, there was some fancy hand-to-hand earlier that V got into, but it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. Someone’s gone to set up long-range targets out by the busted up house, so Boone’s been dicking around with his penis-extender gun…”

 

Six looks meaningfully at her teammate. “Cass…”

 

“What? I’m being civil. He’s the one that nearly took off that fucker's he-…”

 

“I know,” Six says, anxiously cutting her off. “We might actually owe him a lot for that. At least Papa Khan seemed good-humored about it.” She suppresses a shudder when she remembers Papa’s laughter and turns away from the fight to look at Cassidy. “What have you and the others found out about the whole Legion situation?”

 

She grimaces. “Well, it’s not great. I don’t know what that asshole Karl has told them, but he’s given them some rose-colored fucking glasses. Everyone is real excited about sticking it to the NCR and New Vegas and thinks they’re going to be the Belles of the Battle covered in so much glory, it becomes the goddamn promised land." If sarcasm were alcoholic, Six would be drunk.

 

"On the other hand,” Cass continues in a lighter tone, proudly stretching her arms wide, “It turns out that ol’ Papa Khan has some advisers to bend his ear. He might be the almighty leader around here, but even he knows that a man who doesn’t listen to his pack gets eaten by wolves.” She seems a little too pleased by the vicious idea. “Anyway, it turns out that you are a legend among the younger crowd. They _all_ know how you freed Jessup and the others at Boulder City, not to mention your work keeping the NCR out of New Vegas territory. Convincing them that the Legion is bad news might not be the hardest thing ever, and if you convince the advisers...” She takes another sip of water and lets the sentence hang.

 

“You’ve been busy,” Six says, “I’m impressed. That’s some information we can really work with.”

 

Cass tries and fails to hide her satisfied grin, but then nods suddenly to the fighting pit. "Look!"

 

They both see two young Khans take a running leap off the rock ledge to jump onto Lily like many other initiates have done already. This time, one kid makes it. The other kid forgets to let go of the rope and snaps back into the fencepost. He cries out and drops the rope, then falls to the ground all at once with a _crunch_ and stops moving. As before, this daring feat is met with whistles and shouts, but this time, Lily also noticed the injury and she's springing into action.

 

With a great roar that shakes the cavern, she gives her body an almighty shake that sends every last Khan on her whizzing through the air to the far reaches of the arena. For a moment all of the spectators are stunned but soon their cheers shake the scrubby bushes free of sand all through the canyon. Lily, meanwhile, has rushed to the side of the fallen young Khan. She supports his limp head in one massive hand, she looks up and roars, “WHERE’S A DOCTOR?”

 

Six looks around, but no Khans volunteer help or direction, they are screaming and slapping one another on the back. Cass catches her eye and nods down the short path to the second widening in the canyon, where the chem labs are. They both shout for Lily to follow, then run barreling down the path. Lily catches up in no time, cradling the motionless Khan in one arm.

 

In the middle of a wide, empty clearing stand two aluminum Airstream trailers; the Great Khan's drug kitchen. A small campfire burns in a cinderblock firepit despite the already high temperature and the hot air of this canyon smells… astringent. It's common knowledge that the Khans are the primary suppliers of hard-hitting chems like Psycho in an area that touches 5 states, so it makes sense to Six that any potentially volatile substances would be segregated like this from the living area. Two young people, a man and a woman, sit in old plastic lawn chairs by the fire. Cass speeds up to go speak with them, but the woman is already sprinting out to meet them.

 

“Oh my God, Jerry!” Her bright eyes take in his pale skin and motionless body.

 

“He fell from the ledge into the fight pit,” says Cass. “I think he might have landed on his neck.”

 

“Oh no…” The woman shakes her head, brushing a tangled lock of blonde hair out of her way. She looks genuinely distressed.

 

“CAN YOU HELP THE DEAR?”

 

Startled, she shakes her head to answer the nightkin. “I can try… but we don’t have anything really helpful like Stimpaks. Here, bring him in here.” She points the trio into one of the Airstreams and has them lay the boy down on a thin pallet. “Jack,” she says to the man outside, who hasn’t bothered to stand yet, “Go get me some Jet and some Buffout. The good shit, not the shit we had to cut.”

 

“Right on,” he says, finally standing up but moving with a careless lack of urgency. The woman has time to take Jerry’s pulse, undo his dark overalls, prop up his neck, and wash away blood from a few cuts and scrapes by the time her partner returns with some bottles and syringes in hand. The pale boy, Jerry, hasn’t moved at all. He's so thin, Six thinks he can’t be more than 15 or 16 years old. Shouldn't someone be looking out for him? She leans out of the trailer to check and sees still that no other Khans have followed them away from the arena. Doesn’t he have any family?

 

"Nothing's broken. Kids must have bones like rubber," she said, taking the drugs from her partner, Jack, and setting to work.

 

Quickly, the young woman with blonde hair takes two Buffout pills and grinds them with a mortar and pestle, then adds a little water to make a thick liquid. She fills a syringe with the mixture and applies it to Jerry’s forearm, skillfully slipping it into a blue vein, easily visible under his pale white skin. The effect is immediate. Jerry’s eyes fly open and he begins to cough strongly, a little blood appearing at his lips. This is when she crams the inhaler of Jet to his lips and forces him to have two puffs when he gasps between coughs. This takes longer to effect, but he slowly relaxes back onto the pallet and closes his eyes to sleep.

 

“Wow,” says Cass. “What did you do?”

 

The woman smiles, looking relieved. Now that the panic is clearly over, Six recognizes how beautiful she is in a wild, unkempt way. Not only is her bright blonde hair disheveled but she wears faded denim shorts that show off her long legs, covered in fighting scars and her bright eyes have the shape of someone always pleased to see a friend. “The Buffout is to help his blood circulate and dampen the effects of a concussion if he has one. The Jet will relax his muscles and let him sleep so he can get better.” She points at his neck and chest, which are starting to bloom with purple, yellow, and green bruises from his fall.

 

“Impressive,” says Six, watching Jerry’s face ease its pained frown.

 

“That’s Diane,” says Jack proudly, “I make it, she sells it, and together we keep the Khans in caps.”

 

“I think I’ve seen your product in Vegas,” says Six wryly. “You just make hard chems, then?”

 

“Hey,” says Diane a little harshly, “Don’t judge us. These days, we're about the only thing keeping the Khans from falling apart. It’s getting harder and harder to send out shipments since the roads are all firefights and the NCR is choking out my biggest clients. We’re just barely making it.”

 

“I didn’t mean to offend,” Six says quickly but she senses an opportunity and chooses her next words carefully. “What do you think about Caesar? Are you also looking forward to the alliance?”

 

Jack suddenly perks up. His eyebrows come together darkly. “Hey, you were the one talkin’ smack about Karl at the big house last night! What are you trying to pull?”

 

Suddenly, everyone starts talking at once.

 

“Nothing! I just wanted to-”

 

“It’s none of your business any-”

 

“LOUD NOISES!”

 

“You need to Back Up with that kind of-”

 

“What’s going on here?”

 

A new voice comes from the open trailer door. When everyone looks, they see a young black woman with outrageous spikes waxed into her hair. She, like Diane, wears her Great Khan vest with nothing underneath but she has a gun and a backpack slung over her shoulders and looks concerned. She slowly takes her heavy pack off and pulls out a large bag that jingles with caps.

 

“Melissa, you’re back!” says Diane, pleased.

 

“Yeah, I had to reroute around South Vegas. The Scorpions are trying to move territories - Hey,” she interrupts herself, passing Diane the bag of caps while looking unblinkingly at Six, “I know you. You and that power armor chick were in Sloane, shooting up the Deathclaws a long while back. My friends and I were stuck up in the quarry, remember?”

 

“Yeah,” says Six quickly, holding out her hand to shake. “Courier Six. I’m sorry we didn’t have time to really talk after.” According to her then-employer, the size of her paycheck was directly influenced by the freshness of the Deathclaw eggs she had come to fetch, so their meeting had been brief.

 

Melissa shrugs and shifts her weight uncomfortable, the gun on her hip clicking softly. “We were all busy. So... what’s going on here?”

 

“These outsiders are askin’ about the Legion, man,” Jack pipes up quickly.

 

“Oh yeah?” she says with a grin. “I think it’s the best! Karl's told me all about life in the Legion and the Khan’s place in it once we take out New Vegas!”

 

“So,” Cass says, working it out as she says it, “you’re… OK with the idea of overrunning the rest of Nevada and giving it to Caesar?”

 

Melissa rolls her eyes. “Psh, it’s nothing worse than when Mr. House threw us out off the Strip, taking away our homes, or when the NCR shot our children dead at Bitter Springs. We’ve been living out of this shit canyon way too long! Vegas doesn’t give a shit about anything other than tourists spending their caps and keeping everyone poor out of their walls.”

 

Cass doesn’t have much to say to that.

 

“Karl says that everyone in the Legion is provided for; houses, food, everything! Soldiers can work their way up all the way from the bottom and when they retire, they get a pension and a place to live! He says I've got all the makings of a _speculatore_.”

 

Melissa says this with such pride that it breaks Cass’s heart. “That’s… only partly true,” she says regretfully, tugging the brim of her hat, “Women aren’t allowed to serve.”

 

“What do you mean ‘aren’t allowed’?” she says, looking confused.

 

Six’s mouth is a tight line. She breathes slowly through her nose, then begins, “Melissa, the Legion doesn’t do things like that. Here’s what will happen…” she continues speaking in a flat, monotonous voice. “After you help the Legion cross Hoover Dam and push the NCR out of Nevada, they will claim it for themselves. I don’t know exactly what they promised you, land or power or an equal share… but they won’t honor it. Most of your people, the women, the children, and the elderly will be enslaved. You and Diane, as healthy, strong, beautiful women, will be given to officers deserving of commendation. Not as a wife or a partner or anything… but as his personal property. You will clean his house, you will cook his meals, you will polish his armor, and you will bear his children until you die of exhaustion and overwork. The young, capable men like Jerry here who are not immediately enslaved will become ‘footsoldiers’, which means they will be strapped with explosive collars and pushed out into the front lines ahead of the fresh recruits to draw the enemy’s fire. If any of them manage to survive, they _could_ work their way up in the ranks and eventually be freed, but the greatest likelihood is that they will all die scared and alone and soon.”

 

The Khans’ faces are white with shock. “That’s ridiculous,” says Diane in a faraway voice.

 

Six pushes on relentlessly. “They are nice to you right now because they want something from you. I’m no exception. I don’t know what they want - and frankly, I don’t _want_ to know - but it’s the reason I have a standing invitation -” and here she pulls a coin bearing Caesar’s face out of her pocket to show them “- to come to the fort and receive an audience with the Caesar himself. You could come with me and see with your own eyes how they treat the women and the slaves.”

 

“No…” says Melissa in a small voice, her lips barely moving. “No, no!” Suddenly, she is shouting. “This is _bullshit_ , you… you _outsiders_! You’re scared that the might of the Legion is going to wash your decadence all away, aren’t you? You’ll be in a hole in the _ground_ and we’ll be sittin’ pretty behind your shiny walls - you’ll see! I’ll go tell Karl all about your blasphemy right now!”

 

_You'll be in a hole in the ground!_

 

Six feels numb. “Absolutely,” she says. “You go and do that.”

 

The young woman picks up her backpack, turns, and runs towards the longhouse, long bare legs pumping hard to carry her away. 

 

_Truth is... the game was rigged from the start._

 

Lily grunts at her retreating back. “THAT COULD HAVE GONE BETTER, DEAR,” she says to Six, who then agrees with a nod.

 

Jack’s face has gone slack. “Is all that true?”

 

Cassidy takes over. “That’s not all. The Legion is very anti-drug. They don’t even use Stimpaks, it’s all herbal remedies. Here,” she says, tossing him a little homespun cloth bag from one of her coat’s many pockets. Jack opens it and inspects the powder inside. He runs it through his fingers and sniffs, then goes so far as to rub a little on his gums.

 

“It’s just broc flower and xander root. It’s kid stuff.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

He and Diane look meaningfully at one another and seem about to continue the conversation, but just then everyone hears the loud bark of a gun.

 

“RAUL!” shouts Lily joyfully turning to run back to the main Khan camp.

 

“I guess they’ve started shooting things. Let’s go, Cass. Hey, we’ll see you two at the feast later, right?”

 

Diane looks uneasy, but finds a smile and tosses it their way. “Okay. Catch you later.”

 

xXx

 

The snipers are nearly finished setting up their targets out by Bonnie Springs, but on the way there, an exuberant crowd has gathered around Raul. Raul has come dressed as an entire circus contained in the body of one man. He looks every inch the vaquero he was in a former life. From his polished boots and bandolier to his crisp sombrero sporting mostly-intact puff ball decorations, he is a sight to see; a throwback to old western traveling shows that relied on flashy costumes, drunk crowds, and good, old-fashioned, shooting things all to hell.

 

Arcade has taken a break from his travel documenting to be Raul’s assistant and set up some trick shots. Down front, there are seven green glass bottles in a row on a fence, which Raul easily pings off. At first, the crowd is confused by the simplicity of this, but then Arcade holds up each bottle to show a bullet hole directly through the ‘p’ in Sarsaparilla, which is much more impressive. Next, Arcade throws seven more bottles in increasingly unpredictable arcs. Not a problem for Raul; glass shards fly every which direction within seconds. After a few more such tricks, the crowd looks at Arcade and titters with excitement. It is a very traditional and appreciated ending for the solemn assistant to place a final green bottle on his own head and stand as though made of stone for the marksman.

 

Raul takes his pistol and aims. Then he stops dramatically, spins the chamber of his trademark six-shooter, blows across the barrel and aims again.

 

_POW_

 

The glass shatters, showering Arcade with green flecks. The audience of Khans roars its approval, applauding and pumping their fists in the air for a good finale, but the excitement is brought up short. Arcade has produced another bottle and placed it upon his head. Curiously, the Khans look to the vaquero, who reaches ceremonially into his breast pocket and produces a tiny pink hand mirror. He shows this to the crowd and mimes looking into it to see what is behind him. Now, he has their attention and with it, he pulls a bullet straight from the gun and holds it up, making it twinkle in the late afternoon sunlight.

 

His dark eyes sweep the crowd and settle on an older woman, glossy grey hair cropped close to her head. He approaches her slowly as though she is something to be treated with great respect, and fear.

 

“Mi hermosa,” he says with an earnest face, “tienes un beso para mi? Por la suerte?”

 

Six has never seen a Khan turn red before, much less giggle and press the little shining bullet to her lips. Raul takes it from her with a roguish wink and loads it into his pistola with a flourish. Again, he spins the chamber and blows across the barrel, but faces the opposite direction, away from Arcade, with the little mirror in one hand held up to the level of his eye so it looks past his face. Now, he aims the pistol over his shoulder towards Arcade. The entire canyon is still.

 

_POW_

 

Arcade staggers.

 

Six is about to dash over, but he suddenly he smiles and brushes green glass confetti from his shoulders. A fake-out! Of course, Raul’s aim was true. He is surrounded by Khans clapping him on the back, wanting to see his gun, and telling him what a good trick it was. Arcade has a few admirers as well, but he seems to feel more awkward and standoffish than Raul, who is soaking up the attention happily. He even finds his lucky woman and, in a stage whisper Six can _almost_ hear, says “I would be more than happy to return your kiss, señora… later.”

 

Sadly, she doesn’t get to hear his lady’s response because they are all immediately invited to the sniping competition by the bark of another hunting rifle a little ways off. The Khans, most with a strong-smelling drink in hand, follow the sound gleefully. Six and Cass come over to Raul and Arcade.

 

“Your acting is getting better,” Raul is saying to Arcade. “I almost believe you this time.”

 

“Well, I took your advice,” he says wryly. “I pictured what Cass would do and lied like a rug.”

 

“You asshole!” says the rug, punching him semi-playfully in the arm.

 

“I guess there haven’t been a lot of circuses around here in a long while, eh?” observes Six, watching the departing Khans and thinking about their unapologetic enthusiasm.

 

“Haha! No,” says Raul with satisfaction. “It’s nice to play for a crowd that isn’t jaded yet, you know?”

 

“Don’t you feel like… well, like a novelty? Like, doesn’t it make you feel like a sparkly new gun that everyone really likes because it’s new, but then put you in a drawer when it’s not new anymore…. Six, help. I’m not making any sense.”

 

“What I _think_ Cass is trying to ask is how it makes you feel to put yourself on display without knowing if you’ll be taken seriously.”

 

Raul laughed, sweeping his enormous sombrero from his head. “ _Chicas_ , you think way too hard about this. I enjoy the show… I enjoy the people watching… and if someone gets too full of themselves, I enjoy showing them up in front of their friends.” He lights a cigarette and throws an arm around Cass’s shoulders. “Let’s go.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more quick note: My Spanish is… conversational at an elementary level. I’m doing my best to show two things 1) correct Latin American variant grammar when Raul is entirely speaking in Spanish and 2) imitating the way my Spanish-speaking students sound when speaking English. For the most part, they’re fluent, but they all make the same kinds of mistakes when translating (a la the best example ever Coco), which I think brings a realistic dimension to Raul’s character. If you haven’t seen Coco, WTF are you doing reading my lame-ass fic? GO SEE IT.
> 
>  
> 
> But first? Comment, plz.


	6. THE CHAPTER WHEREIN Six has no poker face, Boone got distracted, and everyone suspiciously circled the same day in their Calendars.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old Khan friend gives Six a good idea for beating Frumentarius Karl at his own game but is it going to be enough? Meanwhile, the team makes new friends and Boone experiences, like, a momentary failure to brain. A few lines of NSFW.

The sniping competition was the most hotly anticipated event of the day for a number of reasons. For one, as Cass's new friends Evalyn and Brialle were proud to tell the New Vegas Team multiple times, the Khans enjoy a long history of producing highly skilled marksmen and women. For another, since the more physical games had ended, most of the Khans were ready to kick back with a day drink and _enjoy_ the rest of the party so the attitude was going to be "quite chill" according to Evalyn. The thing that fascinated Six was a general attitude that marksmanship was an even playing field between the Khans and the rest of the world in a way that the other games weren't, so there was a feeling of anticipation to see how their visitor's skills compared. 

 

Fascinating.

 

A quorum of the New Vegas Team and the two Khan girls walk together out towards Bonnie Springs, which turns out not to be a time-consuming journey when following people who know the trails and continue to chat about famous marksmen from their own histories. The girls lead them to a little hillock where the others have gathered. This spot seems to be equidistant from the competitors and the targets for maximum visibility and minimum interference, so it's becoming popular very fast. Some groups have brought things like camping chairs and coolers, while others just as happily sprawl on blankets or sit on the bare rock. Brialle, whose hair is in tight cornrows decorated with painted bone beads, explains that a few soberish assistants with large colored flags will be standing near both the targets and the snipers.

 

"When the next guy is ready, he'll put up the red flag for attention," she says, pointing to a flat-topped rock formation where Six can see some little figures walking around with miniature rifles over their shoulders. "After the shot, the guy at the other end will hold up a flag that matches the target where it was hit. Yellow is for the outermost ring, that's the worst. Blue is for the second most, and red for smallest circle."

 

"In the very exact center of _that,_ " adds Evalyn, whose cheeks are streaked with red paint. "There's a black bolt only thaaaaaaaat big." She holds her fingers about a half-inch apart. Accurately shooting this impressive target will be signaled by a soaring red firework, screaming, and quite possibly a riot. She and Brialle reminisce about past competitors who struck the target and the excellence of the subsuquent riots but Six's mind has already wandered.

 

Six takes a quick look around, but to her disappointment doesn’t see Melissa. She also doesn’t see Papa Khan or Karl, for which she is, instead, relieved. She still hasn’t worked out what she’s going to say at the feast tonight and it’s starting to weigh heavily on her mind. She amiably waves away a few proffered drinks from friendly people in black leather and stares vacantly out towards the painted slabs of wood the snipers are supposed to be sighting. Their scopes must be pretty powerful. The crowd can barely see the red circle, nevermind the black bolt in the exact middle, so it’s a complete mystery how anyone is going to shatter it.

 

“Courier Six,” says a deep voice by way of greeting. “I’m glad to see you here.”

 

Startled, she stands up straight and turns to face the owner of the voice. It is a very tan man with receding blonde hair and the expression of someone who is easily amused. He is looking expectantly at her, with the attitude of an acquaintance. Unfortunately, being the high-profile figure that she is, Six has met dozens and dozens of citizens from everywhere in the Mojave and after a while, the faces simply start to blur together. This handsome man _should_ have stuck better in her mind, but she’s coming up blank.

 

“Thank you,” she says to cover her wrong-footedness. “I am glad to be here.”

 

His eyes crinkle pleasingly at her vague answer. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

 

“Ah…” Six feels her cheeks flush. She should have known better than to dissemble with a Khan. “I’m not sure, I’m afraid.”

 

“You really helped me out of a pickle before.” His lips quirk before he admits, “I owe you my life.”

 

Unfortunately, this doesn’t narrow the list of possibilities much. Six gives him a good, hard look and tries to recall all the times she’s met a Great Khan outside Red Rock. After a moment, her brain stumbles over a little memory from several months back.

 

“Oh! You had a mustache then.”

 

“Right.” Now his entire face is lit by his charming smile. Six can’t help but return it. “The Legion strung me up after I got caught trying to cross the river. Guess I can’t sneak as well as I used to.”

 

“Well, Anders," she said, "I guess you made it back alright if you’re standing here now. You're still running… drugs, I assume?”

 

He hums by way of agreement. “Taking further and further routes, too. Just got back about an hour ago from a run out south going over the 'Gabriel Mountains. Took me a week down and a week back.”

 

Six blinks and shakes her head. “That’s a long way to go!”

 

“Maybe,” he answers, lifting his chin, “but I wanted to be here to watch you try and change Papa’s mind. Thought that might be worth seeing.”

 

She rolls her eyes and turns towards the sniper’s hill, where the red flag has gone up to signal readiness. After a few shockingly silent moments from the spectators, a gun fires - _BANG -_ and the crowd’s heads whip around towards the target as though they could see the very bullet cracking apart the air. The assistant watching the target throws up the blue flag to signal that the sniper struck the second ring and scores 2 points. Many people applaud and whoop, then immediately return to their previously scheduled conversations.

 

“You might have to keep on wanting, friend,” says Six, a little bitterly, “Papa Khan doesn’t seem interested in switching sides and everyone around him is even-less-than-interested in hearing what we have to say.” Six recalls the look on Melissa’s face as she fled from Diane and Jack’s labs.

 

Anders grunts again, a soft sound high in his nose. “Probably. Everything with Papa is about honor. He’d rather die a dozen times with it than live once without. He’s like as not shaken hands with Karl on it and to change his mind now… it’d be like repainting the canyon pink.”

 

Six gets his meaning. _A man who puts honor before everything else can’t be reasoned with,_ she thinks, shuddering at the memory of conversations with Legionaries and comparing them to yesterday's distressing conversation with Papa Khan. _Maybe they have more in common than I thought…_ No. That thought isn’t helpful.

 

“I’ve got to try something,” she says heavily. The red flag has gone up on the hill again. Another rifle barks and the people swivel to see the score. Six thinks a few splinters of wood burst into the sky on that shot. After a moment’s deliberation, the red flag goes up. The shot turned out to just barely score in the red. The people cheer enthusiastically, calling out the name of the shooter like a chant; as raucous as any football fans. Six thinks they still play in the NCR, but no culture of it had taken root here. She had had to sit at the Mojave Outpost to listen to games on the old, staticky radio. Looking up at him with a firm chin, she began, “The old bull himself will run this place right over. Everyone you know and love in this canyon will…”

 

“Believe me,” says Anders, cutting through her prepared statement, “I know. If those assholes are ready to torture a man what isn’t theirs for something as small as a few pounds of Buffout, there’s no telling what they’ll do to a bunch of damn fools like us.”

 

“Oh,” says Six, blushing at his intensity. She’s caught his steel blue eyes and bites her lip to remind herself that she’s in control. His quiet manner, as with many people, is not indicative of meekness, but rather strength. He simply doesn’t have a need to raise his voice. “You’re… you’re already against it.”

 

He nods and she throws up her hands.

 

“Well, there go _my_ conversation highlights. Now I guess we have to talk like _decent_ people or something.”

 

Anders laughs like a Khan, a full belly laugh that doesn’t bother to feign restraint. He sounds so genuinely pleased by her flustered tone that she decides to own it.

 

“Yeah? What are you expecting me to have, like, ‘innermost thoughts’ or something? I’m just walking propaganda. Peel back the speeches and fancy shows and I’m just five baby geckos all wearing the American flag and screaming about democracy.”

 

That makes him laugh even harder. Another sniper sets up and shoots before he regains control of himself. Six doesn’t even see what the shooter scored because she’s gleefully watching this backwater, meatheaded Khan lose his mind at the most flippant comment she’s made today. This is the kind of thing that Cassidy is known for. Maybe some of the snarky caravaneer's charm has rubbed off on her.

 

“Ok, ok,” he gasps, wiping his face with a calloused, rough hand, “That is some _bullshit_ right there. _Dios._ ” His face splits in a smile. “You’re somethin’ else. You’d have made a hell of a Khan.”

 

Courier Six blushes so hard, her cheeks might bruise. “I’m glad you think so,” she mumbles, avoiding too much eye contact.

 

“Don’t think I’m the only one,” he says, nodding towards Cass, Lily, Raul, and Arcade who are all talking animatedly to a group of young Khans who came up to join Evalyn and Brialle. Evalyn is gesturing emphatically towards her and Anders obviously speaking with excitement. Six, feeling awkward, raises one hand in a wave and they all wave back. One young man is sporting a bright green mohawk, which shakes wildly with the strength of his arm.

 

Anders is still speaking. “I definitely owe you one. Let me know what I can do to help.”

 

Six thinks for a moment about the monumental task of convincing Papa Khan to break his agreement with the Legion. “You know?” she says, stepping conspiratorially closer and gently touching one of the patches on Anders’ leather vest, “I think I might have a way that you can help me after all.”

 

_TZING!!_

 

“That’s Boone!” Six gasps, turning at once and stares towards the target. She obviously can’t see where his bullet landed so the Courier just holds her breath, but she isn’t the only one. Every person present is keyed into the moment of tight anticipation.

 

Yellow. The spectators groan sympathetically.

 

That’s the outermost ring. How could Boone, the man who could nail the pupil of a Decanus from the wrong side of the Colorado River during a sandstorm... only score yellow?

 

“Six! I thought you’d be here.”

 

“Veronica,” she said putting Boone’s failed shot from her mind to handle later, “where have you been all day?”

 

“I’ve been really busy.” Veronica isn’t wearing her power armor, no surprise, but neither is she wearing her brown “homeless drifter” rags. In fact, she’s dressed quite similarly to a Khan. Darkly colored shirt with a vest and hardy, though elaborately scuffed, jeans and boots. There weren't any patches or signifying marks sewn at the breast or on the back of her clothes, but if she wasn’t looking closely, Six might not notice that Veronica wasn't exactly a Khan. She'd been blending in, the clever girl. “I’ve been following… our friend.” Her eyes glance to Anders, who is still standing closely, watching with interest.

 

“Oh, Anders, this is Veronica. Veronica? Anders. He’s already in agreement with us about Karl.”

 

“Good! Good. I’ve got some things to tell you _._ ”

 

“Should I bring the whole team?”

 

Veronica looks over at them. Lily is lifting a protesting Arcade over her head while Cass and Raul laugh hard enough to knock into their new friends. “You know what? No. Let them carry on. We’ll talk without them for now.”

 

“Okay,” says Six, drawing the trio a little ways away from the main crowd on the hill.

 

“So, I’ve been following our favorite person,” she restates by way of introduction, “And getting a bead on him. He’s definitely proud of being a Legionary and he _hates_ being here. He’s all smiles while talking to someone, then when they turn around, that goodwill _vanishes_. Early this morning, he met with a young woman who was, I think, supposed to be spying for him… or at least trying to convince her friends to do something, and she obviously didn’t do her job right. He started yelling and screaming at her, telling her she’d never get into the Frumentarii with that kind of work ethic. Poor thing was crying her eyes out at the end and then…” Veronica makes a disgusted face, sweeping back her hood to shake off the dirty feeling, “He says she can make it up to him if she gets on her knees. I couldn’t watch any more.”

 

“You mean she…” Anders looks taken-aback.

 

“Yeah. Yeah, he made her do that.”

 

Six is rubbing her chin thoughtfully. “So he’s got a temper… and clearly a vindictive streak. I can work with that, I think.”

 

“Yes,” V says, her usual manner returning somewhat. “I think that you have a fairly good chance of getting him to slip up.”

 

“Slip up?” asks Anders, who has not yet fully recovered himself like V. His jaw is still tight.

 

“Make him lose his temper, I mean. Get him to say something too honest. It’s obvious to all of us that he hates the Khans, but he’s just good enough at hiding his feelings behind pretty words that I think it’s got Papa Khan fooled.”

 

“Maybe Regis, too,” says Anders, looking up at the sniping hill. Another red flag has gone up. A moment later, after the shot, the attendant by the targets holds up a red flag to match. The crowd cheers, but Six winces because now, round 2 of 2 begins.

 

“It’s a start, but it’s not enough to seal the deal,” says Six. “Legionaries are proud, but they’re committed to their duty. Frumentarii even more so. Let’s say that Karl is a shitty Frumentarius (which he is)... he’s _still_ going to be better than losing his cool at a public event in front of the enemy because he’s a little angry. We’ve got to have something really good on him.”

 

Anders smiles and strokes his upper lip where a blonde mustache used to be. “This is where I come in. The longhouse will be empty until the feast this evening. I'll go to his room and see if there’s anything incriminating in there. Maybe I can also go and see the girl he… ah... talked to earlier. She might know more.”

 

“That’s a great idea!” says Six, touching his elbow softly. “No one will think twice about a Khan being in the longhouse so you can take your time.”

 

“Oookay, then my part here is done. I’m going to go have a drink. Good luck,” and with that, Veronica gently punches Six in the shoulder and slinks away to the noisy pile of people from Las Vegas. Cass immediately pulls her into the conversation, probably introducing her to the boy with a green mohawk.

 

“Her part?”

 

Six nods, quickly dropping her hand from Ander’s arm. Now it is just the two of them. Standing. Closely together. _Privately_.

 

She clears her throat. “Yeah. V's the information gatherer. She is very clever with deciphering cultural symbols, disseminating technological advances, and researching everything she _doesn't_ already know. That means she typically does the heavy lifting of carrying out my plans while I stay big-picture and come in with the conclusion at the end. I’m the brains, she’s the muscle. We’ve all got our strengths and hers is _strongarming_ the others.” Six giggles at her own joke, hiding it behind her hand.

 

Anders raises one eyebrow and brings back his handsome smile.

 

Six’s cheeks burn again. Her giggles slow to a halt. “I… could definitely use another person… w-with strong arms, though,” she says boldly, smiling shyly in what she hoped was an inviting way, looking up through her eyelashes. 

 

He didn't look away, his eyes glued to hers. “Is that so?”

 

Six can barely breathe, but some kind of fire is burning in her blood. She can’t stop herself from speaking. “In fact, I might have an opening… you could ap-p-ply f-for.” What is this stutter thing happening? Did you forget how to use your damn wordspeaks? Oh Jesus, Six realizes she sounds like an idiot and braces for laughter.

 

Anders’ fingers touch her jaw and pull her close for a quick, electric kiss.

 

Six forgets how to breathe during the entire moment his strong lips are pressed against hers. She breathes the hot air on his tongue, tasting the last bite of a cigarette and feeling her skin shiver. Almost more from shock than thought, her mouth pops open and he presses the advantage, brushing his teeth against the soft flesh of her lip. Before Six knows it, her arms have wrapped around his shoulders and she is kissing him with a quiet moan in return.

 

He leans back, smiling. “I guess I’ll have to come by later and show you what I can do.” Anders turns with a wink and walks away, heading towards the main camp to do his assigned snooping.

 

Six feels little lightheaded. "Wait," she says, "How will you tell me what you find?"

 

"Don't worry," he says, waving a hand over his shoulder at her. "I'll find you."

 

_TZING!!_

 

She stumbles quickly back to the hill to see Boone’s second score. Nothing is displayed. Instead, the flag attendant and a person on the other end of a walkie-talkie are conferencing intently. Where did his shot land? She saw no splintered wood, but instead a puff of hay, possibly from the bale  _beside_ the target. In a moment, a third person from a crowd on a different hill charged up to join the debate, gesturing towards Sniper's Cliff.

 

After a long moment, the decision seemed to be made when the man wearing the most leather crossed his arms and nodded. The attendant returned to the target and picked up the yellow flag. He took the cloth in hand and ripped it off, then held up the bare stick.

 

"What does that mean?" whispers Six.

 

"Six," says Veronica, having apparently finished socializing with the other young people. She loops her arm in Six's and follows her gaze _away_ from Sniper's cliff. "I thought you'd want to get ready for dinner now! Did you still want me to do your makeup?"

 

 

"Oh yeah... okay," she said, realizing that she'd forgotten that agreement late last night. "Yeah, let's go." Then they, quite unintentionally for sure, began to walk back to the ger at an exceptionally good distance to see Anders walking ahead of them.

 

Veronica's grin is unbearable. "Do you need a few minutes alone before you take a bath? Save us some time?"

 

"V..."

 

"'Cause there's no reason we can't multi-task. Two birds. One rock. A massive, hard rock just for y-"

 

" _S-stop!"_

 

xXx

 

A grand feast, as everyone knows, begins just before sunset so the meal can take place while there is still light, but the party can last all night. 

 

At the crash of an enormous brass gong, the entire tribe of Khans and all of their guests gathered on the wide ledge before the longhouse. They brought a fabulously eclectic variety of dinnerwear and chopsticks, chairs to sit on in a very oblong group around the fire, many, many bottles of alcohol, and instruments of every kind. Almost as soon as they were gathered, the first canisters of Jet began to circle and the Khans started shaking off the stresses of the day.

 

An entire brahmin lay butchered on the table. It had been painstakingly separated by cut of meat so people could cruise by and snag only their favorite bits. The beast had been roasting over hot, slow flames all day basting in a sauce spiced with honey mesquite and jalapenos, spreading its delicious savory scent through the canyon for hours so everyone was more than hungry enough for seconds and thirds. Roasted jalapenos were a huge favorite among the Khans who ate them by the pound, sucking them straight off the stem, seeds and all. Also, to the surprise of the Vegas team, many revelers dipped their bowls into an enormous barrel of chopped fruit salad consisting of buffalo gourd seed, crunchy mutfruit, and barrel fruit cactus.

 

Courier Six, nibbling on the corner of a prickly pear fruit dipped in mashed yucca, looks at the food-laden tables and wonders if their winter stores will be thin after this ostentatious display. She's been procrastinating out here for 20 minutes, and it's getting hard to think of any more reasons to remain outside, but her stomach is twisted up in knots again. She mouths her talking points to herself over again, promising her own brain that she knows them backward and forward. Cass, Raul, Arcade, and Lily are all outside with the many friends they've made today. She thinks of the enormous risk they've all taken to follow her across the desert and realizes that she can't wait any longer. It's time.

 

She puts down her fruit salad and goes to face the music.

 

The longhouse is the most intact building in the canyon by a long shot. Walking through the solid wooden door feels exceptionally definitive. At the head table inside sits the usual VIP’s- Papa Khan, Karl, and Regis. Somewhat near the door sits Veronica wearing the white satin dress of her dreams; a victory present after the fall of Mr. House. She gives Six a thumbs up and whispers, "We're all ready!" Anders is there, sitting at another table and chatting casually with Raul. He throws a wink towards Six when he catches her eye and she feels the heat rise in her face. She looks away quickly and speeds through her talking points in her head again, trying to focus.

 

“Good evening,” she says to the room at large with a great deal more nonchalance than she feels. “I hope I’m not too late?”

 

“No, wolf cub. Sit here.” Papa gestures to a seat on the other side of Regis.

 

“Thank you,” says Courier Six and removes her gloves. Veronica comes up behind her and takes her leather duster’s lapels. When Six steps away, Veronica pulls the duster off with a little flick that reminds one of a magician’s cape releasing a flock of doves and steps back to avoid obstructing the view.

 

Six brought only three outfits on this _progressus._ One, her day-to-day flannel and jeans; practical and boring, easily coordinated with her leather duster. Two, the professional-yet-uncomfortable suit she wore at the Speech. The third is this dress; a wealth of shining blood-red silk swirls with long, clinging skirts and a glittering mass of sequins curling and shining from every fold. The front of the dress is high necked and fits close to the skin, embracing the base of Six’s throat with a collared halter neckline and hugging her athletic silhouette while the back is daringly low cut, very nearly immodestly. Its skirts are sheer and hug close around her full hips, but fall in waves that just skim the tips of her toes. It’s a fantastic effect, throwing sparkling red rays all around the longhouse and drawing the eye directly to her most important curves, but it’s not the most remarkable thing about Courier Six’s evening wear by far. No, the piece de resistance is not the dress, but rather what the dress _reveals_.

 

The entire reason Six spent 90+ hours hand-sewing tiny sequins onto this dress was to display the real masterpiece; the magnificent tattoo on her back. The Lucky 38 Casino, awash in bright neon colors and daringly outlined with bold black brushstrokes, stretches all the way up her spine from her tailbone to the nape of the neck, exposed tonight in its entirety by her pinned up hair and _this_  backless dress. The wide disc of the tattoo spreads from shoulder blade to shoulder blade, laying such along her strong back muscles that the ink appears nearly three dimensional when she turns her head from side to side. The bright red antennae at the top of the tower, the first glimpse of New Vegas that most travelers see, disappears tantalizingly into her hair. Does it continue or does it stop? It makes a person curious enough to step closer and find out.

 

Six waits an appreciable few seconds for the back of the house to see the tattoo, but not long enough to examine it to their satisfaction. Then, she makes a little show of turning to speak quietly with Veronica so the front of the house can see it as well. An excellent trick to lock in everyone's memory.

 

“Good luck,” Veronica whispers. “Karl has a temper and he hates the Khans, but he’ll say anything to keep the alliance in place. If you can get him to slip up and say something… maybe Papa Khan will see him for who he really is.”

 

“A cowardly, traitorous imperialist who can only stay on top by consuming every other human in existence.” Six smiles. “We’ve got this.”

 

Veronica takes the duster with her and Six goes to her seat at the head table.

 

“Trying to make a point without words, I see,” says Karl’s disapproving voice from the other side of Papa Khan. “Advertising the merchandise?”

 

The Courier blinks with surprise and leans forward to smile right at him.“I’m glad you appreciate it,” replies Six pretending to misunderstand and, accepting a pint glass of home-brewed beer with a grin. “It’s like a jersey: it lets the audience know which team I'm on. Rather like those keen red skirts of yours.” She gestures horizontally with her glass. “When farmers see a wave of ashy knees heading their way, they know it’s time to pack it in.”

 

Papa Khan grunts, which could almost be interpreted as laughter. Not many of their two dozen or so audience members look particularly impressed, either.

 

“Perhaps,” says Karl smoothly, “but when your people see our proud red banners, however, they turn and hide behind the bear.”

 

Several nearby people snicker, whispering rude comments to one another. Six feels a little coil of anger in her heart. “No, you just hide behind the endless toil of slaves...”

 

“Courier...” says Regis with an implication of danger. _Someone_ doesn’t want this evening to end in a fight.

 

Six shakes it off with a shrug. “Just stating facts, no big deal. Please, you were having a conversation before I arrived?”

 

Regis seems to accept this because he turns back to his meat and the conversation drifts for a while. Six has time for her hands to stop shaking and let the butterflies in her stomach settle. All day, she has been preparing for this evening, the chance to convince Papa Khan to turn away from the Legion, and now that she’s here, she can’t remember a single thing she’s supposed to say. Her mind is a complete blank. What happened to all of those well-reasoned arguments? Where was the confidence she showed the team this morning? Why is she letting all of these people get in the way of what she really wants; getting her hooks into that Frumentarius and shaking him until bad decisions fall out.

 

Raul abruptly stands and claps his hands. Six, startled, looks at him right away, and sees that he is holding a heavy basket woven from tough yucca fibers that is full to the brim with gifts. Courier Six also stands and gestures with her full pint glass to Veronica, who signals to the people outside, in case they want to listen. Several smiling faces appear at the door. “Papa Khan,” Six says grandly, “I was informed by your man that this would be an appropriate time to give our gracious hosts a thank-you gift. I took the liberty of putting together some things your people might find useful to go as well as your earnest invitation to the roundtable meeting two weeks from now to vote upon the potential Charter of the Mojave United.” Arcade and Raul each take one side of the handle and walk it up to the high table for the VIP's to inspect.

 

While standing there, Raul is waving cheekily to a friend so, rolling his eyes, Arcade reaches into the basket and pulls out an index card with small, cramped writing. He reads off, “10 packs waterproof strike-anywhere matches, 20 small-folding emergency all-weather blankets, 1 quart rendered Bighorner waterproofing grease, 10 pairs of combat shoes in various sizes, 2 gallons of iodine, and what you see before you, a collection of medical supplies including sterile bandages, sutures, bacitracin, Med-X, and Stimpaks.” He hands the card off to Regis. “The former is in a wooden case outside.” He catches Raul’s eye with a stern look. The ghoul pretends to be chastised to the audience's delight.

 

Six smiles appreciatively at Arcade, who was responsible for deciding what supplies would be most needed by a low-tech desert tribe and then to arrange them nicely in the basket. Raul's job, as the entertainer, is always to judge when Six starts to feel overwhelmed and draw the attention for a few moments with some good-natured clowning around. They obviously succeeded on both fronts because the crowd is noticeably relaxed. Regis turns over the card once and passes it to Papa. “You thought quite rightly, Courier,” he says in his low rumble and gestures for some Khans to take the basket and check outside. "Your gifts are appreciated."

 

Karl looks sour but hides it quickly under an aloof mask.

 

“I assume your people’s token was just as nice,” Six says in a calming tone. “I am sorry to have missed its presentation since it was so, so… _so_ long ago.”

 

“Wasn’t that long ago,” said Anders who suddenly approaches with a fresh plate of meat. He is doing his shift as a server so that he can get close to the action. “Only about a month, wasn’t it?” While he asks, he exchanges the full plate for the dirty one covered in bones and sneaks a new wink to Courier Six.

 

She says with a feeling of relief that she manages to turn into surprise, “Only a month? To sign away the entire state? They must be offering a _hefty_ reward.”

 

“Control of the west bank, in fact,” Anders quips before anyone else gets a chance to turn the conversation away. With that, he turns and walks away. Six watches him at the door, intending to thank him with a come-hither smile… or maybe a demure incline of the head, but what she receives is a man who knows how to display his tight, round assets in some well-faded jeans. He catches her indecent stare and winks one last time before he disappears altogether.

 

“Ah… ah… so _freedom_ ,” she says, reaching for the thread of her thoughts.

 

“Yes,” says Papa Khan as though he knows _exactly_ what has thrown Six off her game and enjoys watching her memory lapse, “Freedom.”

 

She looks at him and tilts her head. “Just for you, though?”

 

Karl sneers, “It is the just reward for any allies of Caesar!”

 

“And what proof has he shown you of your alliance?” she says quickly, “Words blow away in the dust of the desert, you know.”

 

Papa Khan raises his hand and Six has to stop herself from flinching away. His palm is facing himself so his people can see a glittering gold ring on his middle finger, not palm-out as though to strike her. His hands are massive, and he could easily break a bone if he wanted to. Even so, the ring upon it is massive, nearly taking up the entire knuckle, and is stamped prominently with a charging golden bull. A tiny chip of red stone glitters in its golden eye.

 

“This ring was given as a symbol of the exchange of friendship for the prosperity of my people. At Hoover Dam, we will welcome his march into New Vegas and take our places at his side.” His unshakable confidence makes the words sound as though they ring with universal truth. All at once, Six can understand how an entire tribe could simply  _trust_ a decision this man made. For the sake of that trust, she resolves that she can't let him make this decision.

 

She leans over to the man beside her and asks, “What’s to stop him from cutting off the finger and throwing you into the slave cages like the others?”

 

Papa Khan’s lip curls in a sneer to match Karl’s. “The Great Khans are no slaves.”

 

“I’m sure that’s what the others thought, too.” She stands as tall as the Lucky 38 on her back and stares him down.

 

There is an uncomfortable silence.

 

Karl clears his throat, picking up his glass and saying casually over the rim, “The others were not worthy.”

 

“Is that how you felt about your own tribe?” Six says this knowingly but in truth, it’s a guess. A long-ago conversation with her least-favorite Frumentarius implied that many ‘savages’ became honored Legionaries because they helped Caesar conquer their tribe in some way; leaving the gate open at night, assassinating their own leader, passing information over walls, etc. The likelihood that Karl might have been responsible for the 'absorption' of his own tribe was very high.

 

His eyes narrow. “The Legion is my tribe now,” he says through tight lips. _Jackpot._

 

“Your mother should have to hear you say that with the tongue she gave you.”

 

Karl slams down his glass, beer slopping over the side. “I did what was best for my people! None of them would be alive if not for me!”

 

“Is that your benchmark? Just _alive?_ ” she says incredulously, turning away in her chair. “How many of them were made into slaves the moments the gates lifted? How many of your people have now died at the hands of their sociopathic masters? Did it make the scale tip back, Karl?”

 

Their audience is enraptured by this deposition. Many have abandoned the pretense of polite conversation and stare openly, chewing on their dinner without really paying attention. Karl’s face twists violently for a second, catching Six’s breath, but in the next second, he’s plastered on a simpering, condescending smile and turned towards Papa Khan. “Surely your people have their own methods for dealing with outsiders and criminals? Shouldn't _every_ tribe be permitted the agency to mete out punishment for themselves?”

 

Six answers before Papa can. “At least the Khans have the decency to _kill_ their prisoners instead of _dragging out_ their existence _endlessly_ …”

 

“Caesar would _not_ approve…”

 

“And how is the most August Caesar these days? Still holed up in his fort or has he come down to see the front lines lately?”

 

“The duties of Caesar are more important than taking a tour along the border of his territory to ensure that his soldiers still belong to him!”

 

“They _don’t_ belong to him, they belong to people like yours, people who _worked_ the land to survive...”

 

“The Legion _is_ my people,” he snarls again, louder.

 

“Did you tell your mother that lie when you let them burn your village to the ground?”

 

Karl surges to his feet. “How _dare_ you speak to me that way!”

 

Six leaps up to meet him, squaring her shoulders. “I’ll speak any way I please to a murderous, raping _slaver- !_ ”

 

“That’s enough.” Papa Khan doesn’t have to raise his voice or stand to command the attention of every single person in the longhouse. Everything simply stops and waits. “You may not speak that way to our honored guest.”

 

The longhouse is dead still. All eyes are on Karl and Six. Everyone can hear that a number of Khans outside have found their instruments and begun a heavy, accented drum circle outside but it feels distant... irrelevant.

 

Six stands rooted behind the high table gasping around a lump in her throat. Her head throbs. Of all the possible outcomes for this evening that she expected… this wasn’t one them. Victory, defeat, even a good, old-fashioned back-room brawl she could account for in her wildest imaginations, but to be _scolded publicly_ like some petulant teenager? For a wild moment, she considers taking out her pistol and putting one in Karl’s skull right then and there, but they all might not make it out alive through a mob of bloodthirsty Khans who know the canyon far better than her city-dwelling friends.

 

So… she reconsiders.

 

It would absolutely be worth it to see the smug smile slide right off his lying mouth, she tells herself, but Courier Six, Paragon of the Mojave and Mother of a Nation, wouldn’t behave that way. Her people must come first. She finds a smile and inclines her head to Papa.

 

“I meant no offense,” she lies, stepping back and dropping her shoulders. “I only wanted to present a complete picture of the… situation. In fact, I hope there are no hard feelings…” she steps up to Karl and extends one hand with a prim little bow. “Would you do me the _honor_ of this dance?”

 

Karl smiles, the first genuine flash of pleasure he's had in her presence. “Lead the way,” he said, seizing her wrist. 

 

The thrum of noisy people returns to Six’s ears when she led Karl by the wrist out to the campfire where a handful of Khans play on beaten up guitars and hand-carved drums. It was raw and dirty sounding music; full of fast beats and hard-angled melodies. The singing Khan’s words swung freely between English, Spanish, and Kazakh producing a jarring, disjointed feeling which was barely accompanied by a manic pounding of cluster chords from various pitched drums. This was music more suited to an all-out attack than dancing; nothing like the smooth, easy tempo of the New Vegas lounges. It was noisy and confusing to Six, but the locals clearly understood it and came ready to respond. Dozens  of people flocked to the band and danced on the open part of the ledge. Well… _danced_ is not quite the word. _Thrashed_ _Around Violently_ is more like it. Kicking and punching, jumping and diving. It was dancing like Six had never seen all pressed together and covered in bruises. Nevertheless…

 

Six was searching for a discreet space to dance near the fringe of the partiers but had to stop abruptly when Karl tugged her wrist painfully. He pulled her close right there in view of everyone - the dancers, the diners, and all the diplomats in the longhouse - touching his hard, calloused hand to the small of her back. Her skin crawled with goosebumps.

 

Karl pulled her up hard against his body, trapping Six against him with an arm around her shoulder blades but even though it horrified her to do so, she laid her arm over his like she was supposed to and opened her other hand obediently. Quick as a flash, Karl snatched her other hand, held it to his chest, and then led her quite capably in a charming little two-step.

 

Six’s jaw almost dropped. He was an extremely nimble dancer!

 

His hands guided her so effectually that she followed the lightest press of his fingertips without having to think at all, as though his mind was speaking directly to her feet. She couldn’t look away from his piercing eyes. They bore into her thoughts, cutting them right at the roots, so even though her foggy brain _screamed_ at her to speak to Karl  _right this second_ , not a single word came to her lips. She couldn't feel her own heartbeat, just the pulse of the music in his head, guiding their feet so beautifully.

 

His mouth was a flat line, hardly even folded at the corners. Not a single clue did Six have as to what he could be thinking. Does he have a knife in his belt to stab her in the ribs and blame her murder on the Khans? Is he going to thank her for making him look so good to Papa that she ironically sealed his deal with the Legion? Or is he just going to look at her forever, freezing her like a little mouse gasping at a cobra?

 

He leans close. His cheek is nearly brushing hers. Six can feel his hot breath on her skin when he whispers quietly enough for only _her_ ear, “It was a good try, Courier. Professional, even, but you really stood no chance. My lord and I have been working ahead of you for months, befriending all the profligates in your lands and offering them every one of their little heart’s wicked desires. You’ll always be two steps behind us and soon you’ll wish you hadn’t left your little safe house on the Strip when Caesar burns it to the ground. But really… it was _quite_ a good effort.”

 

Karl releases her except for her fingers. Slowly, gazing into her eyes all the while, he brings them to his lips and presses a deliberate kiss on the very tips. He then inclines his head politely and strides back into the longhouse leaving her alone.

 

With a great shudder, Six remembers to breathe. She sways as though to faint, but is quickly steadied by another pair of strong hands. She stiffens and turns fearfully but Anders, luckily, is watching Karl’s back disappear through the door and misses her wide, terrified eyes before she calms herself down.

 

“What a class-A dickhole,” he says in a dark voice.

 

“I’m… I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

 

“Can’t wait to see him gone.”

 

“He’s not staying here?”

 

Anders hasn't moved her. He's just letting her hold onto him until she feels steady. It feels very comfortable. “No. He’ll be leaving in three weeks.”

 

 _That’s when Lanuis expects me to meet him at the Dam._ Six frowns. _There’s no way that’s a coincidence._

 

She looks at the manic energy of the dancers and the crushing disappointment of the longhouse's closed door, then turns her face up to her knight-in-leather-pants.

 

“...let’s go somewhere else?” she asks.

 

Anders smiles and squeezes her hand. “Anywhere you want.”


	7. THE CHAPTER WHEREIN Anders gets a handful, Six sheds her skin, and Someone's gonna hafta clean up that Mess.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Courier Six enact some good, old-fashioned diplomacy. Aw yiss. NSFW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By this point, I think you will notice that the appropriateness of the [E] Explicit rating is becoming increasingly more clear as the story continues. This is a trajectory that is only on its way up, my friends. Please note the many additions to the tags and give me a shout if you think I've missed something crucial.
> 
> Also
> 
> In a really revealing moment, I realized a technique I’ve been using all along, but just recently really started manipulating with some conscious thought. Fanfiction is a completely different medium from publishing a novel or roleplaying with a group of friends. It’s closest to the short stories that American authors like Poe, Lovecraft, and many others used to publish their works piecemeal: magazine spots. Each piece of a much longer work is posted in chunks that need to both progress the overarching plot, but also be exciting when read by itself; sort of like a TV Drama show. In other words, I’m expecting readers to reread old chapters while waiting for new content and I want them to be just as entertained by the re-read as by the initial read.
> 
> That’s a mouthful. Let me explain my behavior: I follow about 30 stories religiously, most of which are not completed works. Some of them are /quite/ /long/ /INDEED/, so when new content is posted, there is a strong possibility that I won’t be able to enjoy it unless I back up several chapters ahead of time to contextualize what Swapfell Sansbylemon Barista AU NONSENSE is going on in the latest one. (I’m in deep, friends. I’m so sorry.)
> 
> I’ve been consciously using this information about my own fanfic reading habits to sneak in additional information that leaps from the page once you know about an upcoming event. Foreshadowing that’s more apparent upon the second read if you get my drift.
> 
> I’m going to attribute this habit to studying tension by listening to analysis of Tarantino’s movies like Inglourious Basterds by Lessons from the Screenplay (fascinating) and Folding Idea’s explanations of using camera angles and cuts to effectively tell a story. These are just two YouTube channels I watch and rewatch eagerly, picking apart their methods and trying to apply them to my own writing. They are amazing, I highly recommend them and many others, if anyone is interested, please, please let me know in comments.
> 
> Anyway, TL;DR I’ve been retroactively introducing tension into every chapter I write so that you hopefully have more realizations upon rereading my story because you are given additional information that didn’t seem important before. I do this because it exploits the way fanfiction is updated episodically. Sorrygoreadpornnow.

xXx

 

It’s the first place that popped into her head, though she wasn’t sure why. Maybe she was thinking back to that morning before she’d had to present the gifts from New Vegas, speak directly _to_ Karl, or been goaded into fighting like a dog in front of Papa Khan. That’s what it felt like, anyway, scrabbling to gain purchase over her better-fed rival. Karl isn’t even her rival anyway… he’s like the little chicken before the rooster; one day he might be worth something, but right now he’s nothing compared to his 'lord'. Vulpes. Vulpes Inculta. She had to bear in mind that the big plan was to unite  _everyone_ against the cunning cruelty of Caesar and his top men.

 

Anyway, in the mindset of wanting to forget all about her incompetence, she and Anders walked back out to Bonnie Springs, towards the sniping range. They spent a good time trying to scramble up the rocky cliffside of the sniper’s nest before her Khan guide showed her the ladder on the other side of the hill. He laughed all the while at his clever joke on the unobservant city folk.

 

Just for that, she refused to let him look up her skirt. She kept her feet on the ground while he pretended to be sad about it and went up first so he could hold the ladder steady for her. “Would have done it anyway, miss,” he said, winking at her playfully once she reached the top.

 

The summit of Sniper’s Cliff is flattish and littered with scratchy, sandy stones. Two weathered picnic tables sit at one end covered in ashtrays and cigarette butts, probably where the competitors sat to wait for their turns. At the end facing the target is a freshly painted red line and a few straw pillows to help each sniper get into their best position. The red ‘attention’ flag lies rolled up nearby.

 

For the first time since it happened, Courier Six really recalls the sniping competition. Boone came in last place for both rounds, even missing badly enough that the Khans had to think of a brand new way to show his failure. It just didn’t make sense, though. Boone was the best marksman in the entire valley. More than once, she had charged straight into a chaotic scrum knowing that his bullets would never stray from their path into her enemies. Further, he wasn’t the type of man to hide his talents behind false modesty. Raul might find it a funny punchline to reel in suckers who underestimate him, but Boone would be offended by the idea of ever performing at less than his best.

 

It just didn’t make sense.

 

She shakes her head, which Anders mistakes for a shiver and wraps his arm around her shoulders. They left the longhouse in such a hurry, Six never took back her coat from Veronica and the desert nights are cold. It’s fine, Veronica was watching the packed mixed-company circle around the coffee table going shot-for-shot. _Someone_ had to be the adult, here, while Six went to go open her legs for… for, well…

 

“He really messed you up, yeh?” The way Anders says ‘yeah’ is different, flatter. It’s still his honey-dark voice with the habit of clipping his sentences but the sound just flows wrong, like he has to remember how the words go. Six remembers that he got back from a run only this afternoon.

 

“Who did?” says Six.

 

“Karl.”

 

“Oh, yes. Karl’s an asshole,” she says, leaning into him a little more and smelling the darkness of his cigarette. Her bare shoulder creaks against his leather vest. “They’re all the same. They think that their strength is their reason.”

 

“...huh?”

 

Six shakes her head and smiles. “I mean that Legionaries don’t consider whether or not they _should_ do something… the fact that they _can_ do it is reason enough.”

 

Anders smiles. “Ok.” Six isn’t sure he gets it, but that’s not really a surprise. His world is so different from hers, there’s bound to be some translation errors. She cups her hands around her eyes like binoculars and looks away down the firing range.

 

“It’s so far,” she says, hardly able to see the wooden board, much less the colors on it. She leans away from Anders to adjust her angle.

 

“Yeh,” he says, crossing his arms. “It’s supposed to be.”

 

She sticks out her tongue at him over her shoulder, then looks away again. “I’m not really very good at this,” she confesses.

 

“Good at what?” Anders asks with a purr in his voice full of a suggestion that makes Six’s lips tingle.

 

“Good at… well… you’re handsome, you see.”

 

“Am I?” he steps closer behind her. If she stands up straight, her tattoo of the Lucky 38 will press against his warm leather. His knees already brush the full skirt of her dress.

 

“Y-yes,” she says, turning awkwardly to face him without touching him and coming to stare directly at his collarbones. He is tall. Six looks up at him through her eyelashes. “Yes, you are. And I find you v-very attractive.”

 

“I see.” His face is very neutral except for a little twitch at the corner of his mouth. It makes Six's knees tremble.

 

“I hope so. You see, it’s really important that I…”

 

“Do you want me to kiss you?”

 

“...yes.”

 

“Then, stop talking.”

 

Good Lord… Anders was _good_ with his mouth. Earlier today, when he kissed her in the crowd and she felt like she would melt, he must have been going easy on her. He captures Six’s bottom lip in a strong, sensual nibble that allows her to feel her every nerve brushing against the heat of his mouth. He tastes like campfire and charred meat and tobacco. She stiffens as a reflex, but his calloused hand cups her jaw, not really forcing her to stay, but not easily letting her pull back, either. It’s a little dizzying; she has to stand on tiptoe to reach his height and return his kiss, shyly sweeping her tongue across the tip of his.

 

Maybe the plan _is_ to put her off balance, she thinks in the next second, trying to remain standing tall. She wavers on her toes and has to throw her arms around his shoulders to keep from tripping out of in his grasp. Anders’ free hand immediately supports her, reaching down to generously cup her ass while he does so. She makes a completely involuntary noise somewhere between a sigh and a whimper and wildly wishes for his finger to do much more than skim the edge of her panties through layers of sequins and fabric. Her hips roll into his hands as though she might cum on his palm at any moment and feels completely shocked by her own boldness. Is this how Courier Six is going to unite the Mojave under one tribe? By using her body like a Gomorrah whore? Why not just have all of the eligible bachelors in Nevada line up under a sign with only one word; OPEN.

 

Anders lets go of her jaw to cup his other hand around her other cheek, this time reaching around far enough that his fingertips slide under the elastic of her panties, clearly not bothered by her lascivious noise. If anything, he encourages it, letting her feel the texture of his rough, night-cool fingers against her hot, dripping petals, but at the same time, not giving her nearly enough. Even though he traces her valleys with tantalizing languor and gently rolls each fold between his thumb and forefinger, he always stops shy of actually satisfying her need, stretching her control by using her own desire as the leash.

 

“Please,” she whispers, trying to pretend like her groin _isn’t_ pressed against the hard length of his cock, separated only by one layer of denim and one layer of cotton that are both being soaked through by her arousal.

 

“What is it, miss?” says Anders lightly, skipping around the bead of her clit with utter disregard for her plaintive whimper as he does so.

 

“Please, Anders, your h-hand…”

 

“What about it?” The hand hovering so close to her waiting entrance freezes. The hand still cupping her buttocks squeezes the curve of her flesh hard enough to bruise.

 

“I… can’t…” she gasps with tears threatening to spill out and fearfully watches him lean close.

 

“Bitch, tell me what you want me to do to you,” says Anders in a low, unhurried voice, his broad chest rumbling right against her ear, “or I will turn you over my knee and _spank_ it out of you.”

 

The string breaks. “Please!” she cries, echoing in the cold desert night, “Please fuck me!”

 

He needs no further prompting. At once, he kneels with her still in his arms and lays her right down on the rocky ground. The freezing-soaked panties guarding any modesty Six had left, he rips off her hips and holds the pieces like rags in his hand before dropping them to the ground. His bare hips press her thighs apart and she feels deliciously open, cooled by a sweet night wind with a relief that pulls tears from the corners of her eyes. He sets the tip of his hard cock against her entrance and she realizes that her vagina, which only a moment ago was wet enough to revive Bonnie Springs itself, is now dry to the touch.

 

Maybe the desert air is the reason she feels every pull of Ander’s skin against hers, tearing into her dry cunt in a way that makes her taste red but, she moans with relief; it feels good like a deep, vindictive scratch across an irritating itch. He fills her right to the edge, stretching her in a way that makes her body melt in his arms, splaying itself wide against the rock with ecstasy. Anders takes this quite rightly as encouragement and gives her no time to adjust to the spark of pain caused by his cock, but begins moving again immediately, drawing out her anguish like a singing wire clashing across her nerves.

 

She feels overwhelmed by the sensation of Anders in a way that reduces her focus right down to his use of her body. His body is so much larger than hers that he completely obscures her, covering her skin with his musky heat and glistening sweat. She breathes it in and feels a rush of thrill. The flat pebbles under her bare flesh scratch and scrape open her skin, adding their throbbing to the beating of her heart, straining for release. His rhythm is insistent, a little faster than she can handle so that she has to clutch to his shoulders and gasp her moans into the leather zipped tight against his chest. She can’t think of any words to say to beg him to stop, but neither can she think for a moment of slowing down. Her pussy is tearing apart and if she makes him stop to relieve her swollen, bleeding lips she might not regain the courage to follow through.

 

“Oh…” Six moans, squeezing her eyes closed and holding on, “Don’t, d-don’t stop!”

 

Each of his thrusts dovetails into the last, snowballing sparks of sensation into fast, violent slaps of his hips that spray droplets of blood and precum all down Six’s thighs. Somewhere during the few breaths it took to open her knees wide for Anders, her body demonstrated its opinion and caused her juices to flow freely again. Now, his cock slides between her thighs like silk, plunging inside her deeply enough to wind the coil of tension she longs for. Her head falls back, broadcasting her cracked moan by boucing off the canyon walls. Anders groans in response, pushing inside her extra deep at the apex of his next thrust. Then, reaches up and takes her by the hair to make her look right into his piercing blue eyes.

 

“Tell me,” he growls harshly, “Tell me what you want.”

  
“I want _you_ …” she says in a sexy mewl, imitating a girl she heard during a pole show once. It seemed to impress her audience enough to earn her embarrassinging amount of California's military spending that night, so she might know what she's doing. “I want you _inside_ me…”

 

“No!” he says, jerking her head back by clenching his fist against her scalp. “That’s what you already _have_ … I told you to tell me what you still _want_.” He deliberately slows his thrusts and presses his lips to her exposed throat, nipping her moonlit flesh with his sharp teeth.

 

“Ah~!” she whimpers, rocking her hips impotently. She can’t, by herself, get the tip of his cock moving to satisfy her itch, try as she might. “But I do… I _do_ want you…”

 

“But what do you _want_ me to do to you… _bitch._ ”

 

The bite of that word pairs with a stinging bite of anger in her throat, cutting across any reasonable argument she might have had. Six throws his teeth off her neck and stares unblinkingly into his steel-blue eyes which are smiling with mischievous pleasure. “I want you to _cum_ inside me…" she snarls. "I want you to fuck me into the _ground_ and leave me _full_ and _dripping_ from _you_ … I want… oh... Oh! OH!” but she, quite understandably, doesn’t get to finish telling him about what she wanted.

 

Her magnificent dress has fallen back to completely expose her cunt, dripping their sex and blood onto the rocks of Sniper’s Cliff as he thrusts with the insistence of an engine at the limit of its gas pedal. It isn’t a bother that the weight of their bodies together is nearly bending her in half, in fact, she almost can’t feel Anders’ teeth cutting sharply into her wrist, thrown wildly above her in an attempt to anchor herself. What she can feel, however, that her last, humiliating confession inspires Anders to bear down on her body with his entire weight and slam the dripping tip of his cock against her most intimate pleasure, igniting her nerves with a jangling orgasm. Her knees press suddenly against his sides, holding him in at his deepest while the walls of her pussy squeeze and squeeze his dick until his hips buck a moment later and he spills what feels like a gallon of his sticky seed into her. His groan shakes his entire body, pulsing in him with the delicious pleasure of her vagina, head to toe.

 

Anders sags over her, barely held up by his elbows. As requested, Six feels little drops of his semen trickle down her thighs and has her quiet moment of relief.

  
“Oh, miss,” says Anders, shifting on his elbows. He smiles down at her and softly kisses her brow. “You would have made a _great_ Khan.” He winks and slowly rises, careful not to disturb her expensive dress. Once standing, he tucks himself away and redoes his jeans.

 

“Oh yeah? Are Khan women all huge freaks like me?”

 

He laughs quietly as though conscious of all the noise they just made together. “No. They know what they _want_. And so do you.” He laughs again when she blushes and looks away, pulling her sparkling red dress down to cover her knees, but he catches the same wrist he bit and presses a kiss to it. “It’s a good thing.”

 

“Maybe so,” she says, accepting his hand to help her stand. “I suppose I _did_ want you pretty badly.”

 

“I noticed.”

 

“There’s no need to be smug!”

 

“Who’s being smug? I was just stating a fact.”

 

Six playfully biffs him on the arm. “Sure. Whatever. Can you at least turn down the post-coital glow until my team and I are out of the valley tomorrow morning? It’ll be hard to navigate by the light of  _two_ punishing suns.”

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

Their happy banter continues down the ladder and away. At length, their voices fade into the quiet midnight towards the revel continues.

 

Not 10 feet down from the edge of Sniper’s Cliff, perched on a jagged old car body from last century… Boone lights a new cigarette.


	8. THE CHAPTER WHEREIN Mrs. Smiles lives life on the edge, Jerry becomes a Whatever, and Doc Mitchell threatens to choke a chicken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite their setbacks, the Diplomatic Tour rolls on but the team seems to be larger than it was before. Huh. Further, the meet-and-greet in Goodsprings is larger than expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello... everyone. This is not a drill.
> 
> At the moment of this chapter's posting, the complete outline for this story is 75 pages long and growing. It's taken on a life of its own, doing all kinds of inappropriate plot things with characters who ought to know better and then mishandling its grammar so badly, I can't see how the beats connect properly At All.
> 
> The upshot of this phenomenon is that the previous 7 chapters have gotten a facelift to fall in line with the new regime and while the facts of the story itself have not changed one bit, their presentations have and that might Matter (tm). 
> 
> Now, I'm not here to tell you how to enjoy your fanfic, but I might be here to recommend that if you have not done so sometime within a day or so before this chapter's posting, you should probably at least Skim the old chapters to get a sense of the updated flavor. If not, you might feel like some characters and ideas are coming from almost nowhere and... you may be Right.
> 
> ...you may be Crazy.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jo9t5XK0FhA

After a very sobering breakfast of cold leftover pottage in the longhouse, the entire New Vegas Team is more than ready to hit the road as early as possible. Six graciously thanks Papa Khan and Regis for their hospitality while the others leave to pack up their things and start saying goodbye.

 

“Your people have made us feel so… welcome,” says Courier Six, a little softly so the many diners with hangovers can have a peaceful breakfast. “I know my friends and I won’t ever forget our time here. We invite you to come to New Vegas in a fortnight to join our meeting if you change your minds… or also if not. You can visit us whenever you like, even just to see what we’re up to. I would like our people to be good neighbors,” she says, shaking Papa and Regis’ hands warmly.

 

Lastly, she turns to Karl, keeping her smile bright and happy. “Goodbye, Karl.” He looks much the same as last night - arrogant,  _sneering -_ but now a white wolf's tooth hangs from a stiff piece of cord around his neck. She nods at his chest. "Looks like you had fun last night."

 

Karl looks down as though he has forgotten what he's wearing proudly over his leather vest. "This? An honorary badge of membership presented to me at dawn this morning." His own smile flashes with white teeth. "I'm sorry you missed it. Have a safe journey."

 

Well, after that most lukewarm of farewells, Six quickly exits, stage left. She trots down the slope to their Ger where Lily has strapped on their crate of things and everyone else is throwing on hats and sunglasses to thwart the sun. They look much more prepared than they did when leaving New Vegas the first day.

 

“Hey, boss,” says Raul when she comes up. He directs her attention by looking meaningfully just past the open flap of the Ger where a skinny young man with a long, black shock of hair is standing, pretending not to watch them. In his hands are a pencil and a notebook, covered in words and scratch-out marks. “I think this kid might want to talk to you.”

 

She peers at him more closely. “He looks familiar…”

 

“Oh yeah!” Raul laughs, “He’s the boy Lily saved from death in the fighting ring! She went to go see him this morning after he woke up and she wants to keep him.”

 

“Like a pet?” It’s not typical of Lily to want _more_ people to join her group, so what's special about this kid? Six eyes his pale skin and threadbare shirt. It's so thin, she can see the bandages still wrapped around his chest because it’s only been _a day_ since he fell badly enough to knock himself out... on the other hand, he's up and walking around now. That's pretty impressive by itself.  

 

Raul shakes his head and looks meaningfully into Six’s eyes. “No, like part of the team.”

 

“Oh, it’s like _that_.” She immediately takes another look. This boy, Jerry's his name, might be about 15 but he’s skinny and short so he could also be a bit older, just malnourished. It's hard to tell. He’s clearly had some schooling which is a rarity in this area but isn’t wearing any leather at all which means he hasn’t earned his membership into the Khans and it looks like he might be running out of time to do so.

 

“Ok,” she says after a moment’s thought. “I’ll handle this. Thanks, Raul.”

 

Six checks quickly that the inside of the Ger is completely empty, then stands next to him right at the open flap. “Hey there, it’s Jerry, right?”

 

He jumps and pulls his notebook close to his chest. “Y-yeah, it's Jerry, Courier. How do you…”

 

“I was in the trailer for a bit while Diane took care of you. Look, I know the team would love to say a real goodbye to you and you’ve been waiting really patiently. Why don’t you help us out of the canyon? Be our guide through Bonnie Springs? It's a straight shot after that but it took us _forever_ to get here by ourselves.”

 

“Right now?” He looks so elated that Six feels moved. “Thanks! I’ll just grab a… jacket...” he says, then dashes away. Fifteen minutes later, he meets them at the mouth of the camp with suspiciously more than just a jacket on him. No one mentions this and he falls in step behind Lily.

 

The air feels freer when the sky opens up outside the twisting canyon walls. Veronica pulls her hood off her face. Six unbuttons her coat. The walking becomes... easier. They smile and remember to talk to one another.

 

"Hey!"

 

"What was that?" Cass asks Veronica.

 

"HEEEEEEEEY!!!!!"

 

"TEN HUT!" barks Boone's voice from the direction of the yells.

 

Veronica, on point, whips back to look at Boone, the rear of the team, but Boone-the-rear-of-the-team just sees half a dozen screaming teenagers in black leather running pell-mell after them. Six barely gets in between his rifle and the kids before he goes nuts.

 

"Hold on. They don't have any weapons, Boone," she says soothingly. "They're minors and they're all too young to enlist, yeah?"

 

"Huh... yeah..." he says in a light, dazed voice. Six can't see Boone's eyes behind his sunglasses but even so, she's sure he just saw another time, another place. She exchanges a look with Arcade, who takes Boone by the shoulder and leads him away for a while.

 

"Hey, is he okay?" It's Evalyn. Her red facepaint is smudged today but it turns down with sweet concern.

 

"Yeah," says Cass. "He's one of those 'honorable medical discharges' you hear so much about back home. He'll be fine after a walk, don't worry."

 

"Dude,  _savage_ ," says the boy with the green mohawk. Six learns his name is Kenin.

 

"Is 'savage' a good thing now?" asks Raul, looking dubious. The teenagers and Veronica laugh.

 

The tallest boy, Jared, clears his throat. He's a thoughtful sort of boy who has shaven his head and replaced his hair with angular, geometric tattoos. "Uh, look," he says nervously. "We're sorry about how things went down with Karl and Papa. We really appreciate you trying to change his mind but... he just can't understand what he doesn't see." A few others nodded in agreement.

 

"Yeah, I think we figured out it was a long shot pretty quickly, too, kids," says Six with a self-deprecating chuckle.

 

“Still. Thanks for trying."

 

The other kids sound off as well. "Yeah, thanks." "Ap-pre-ci-ATE!" "Thank you." "Mm-hmm."

 

"One more thing," says Evalyn, looking at Bialle, who looks at Kenin with the green mohawk, who looks at Tall Jared with tattoos on his scalp. "Let’s say the others never change their minds... Is there still room for us in New Vegas?”

 

Six turns her laugh into an enthusiastic shout of, "Yes!! Yes, of  _course_ there's room for you! There will  _always_ be room for you."

 

The round of hugs becomes more and more bitterly tearful the longer they stretch their farewells but at last, it really is time for them to part. All of the young Khans turn to go home except for one.

 

“Hey, Jerry… aren’t you coming?” says Bialle, shaking her beaded hair.

 

Jerry’s face goes white as a sheet and he looks up at Lily immediately. She pats him on the back with one massive hand and says, “IT’S ALL RIGHT, DEAR. YOU SHOULD SAY GOODBYE TO YOUR LITTLE FRIENDS.”

 

Jerry looks nervous but turns to face them all the same. “Um, I’m leaving with the Courier, you guys. You all saw me at the trials, I mean… being a Khan just isn’t for me. I’m going to go be… s-something else.”

 

Tall Jared steps right up to Jerry, not even a foot away. Jerry’s eyes widened with sudden dread but when the other boy raises his hand, it’s open and extended at waist height.

 

“Good luck,” he says, taking his hand and shaking it.

 

“Yeah, good luck!” says Evalyn immediately after. “Not everyone’s meant to be a Khan, man. You’re going to go be a great… Whatever!”

 

“Really?” says Jerry breathlessly. “You mean it?”

 

They shook hands and hugged for the last time, patting and punching him on the arm in turns. When they all turned away, Jerry’s smile was sparkling with tears.

 

“Everybody ready?” asked Six, greatly pleased. “We should go. Welcome to the team, Jerry.”

 

xXx

 

Their "straight shot" to Goodsprings ended up encountering a few more obstacles than expected, turning their slight delay at Bonnie Springs into a huge one they earned climbing around a pair of miniature landslides and clearing out a nest of Nightcrawlers, among other nonsense. As was becoming the new normal, Team New Vegas rolled up to the turnoff for Goodsprings Cemetery significantly behind schedule.

 

"For someone who's supposed to be earning that 'Express' money, you are very, very late," sniped a pointed, serious voice. A kerosene lamp sprang to life, revealing Sunny Smiles waiting for them at the fork in the road. She is wrapped in a thick woolen blanket against the cold desert night, which might be partially to blame for her frosty tone. “Don't they have clocks in that fancy city?” she demands, struggling to her feet. Her blanket falls open and the entire team gasps.

 

“What happened?" exclaimed Six. "You look like you sat on a stick of dynamite that exploded, look at you!!"

 

“That’s one way to put it.” Sunny turned to the side so everyone can appreciably view her swollen, pregnant belly.

 

“Holy shit!” said Cass, leaning close conspiratorially and mock-whispering, “Does Ringo know?”

 

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Sunny says in an exasperated voice. She flicks the front brim of Cassidy’s hat for her sass.

 

Veronica smirked and elbowed Raul. “I guess it’s not so bad to have _two_ trade routes through the Mojave these days is it, Mrs. Ringo?” They both chuckled.

 

Sunny, ever the stoic, began the long waddle up the turnoff to Goodsprings without rising to their bait. “It’s Mrs. Smiles, actually. Turns out, my husband never learned his own family name. How about that?”

 

Goodsprings opened the steep cemetery road when new trade caravans had trouble passing one another on the torn up road down by the sky-diving shack. A staircase and a bypass route had been considered originally, but the town had really pulled together to discuss it and decided that they would save up and get the old road paved when they had moved the foundational dirt and stones themselves to make it longer and gentler. Their typical rural industry was admirable but it meant that until the people of Goodsprings could finish the project, the northern route would remain this miserably steep climb.

 

"Here we are," said Sunny as she waited for the others to catch up on the main road. “Everyone’s waiting in the Saloon to say hi to you.”

 

“Saloon! Drink! _Please_ … ” gasped Cass, clutching her side and sitting right down on the ground. She decided to run up the hill all in one go to get it over with. Veronica in her Power Armor came jogging up next, followed less enthusiastically by Arcade and Six, and Lily brought up the rear with Jerry under one arm and Raul under the other.

 

“It saves my ancient knees,” he said by way of explanation, hanging comically sideways from Lily’s massive elbow. Arcade laughed and took off his glasses to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

 

The back door of the Saloon flew open and a woman in a pink apron charged out to greet them. The proprietress, Trudy, hugged them all in turn and practically pushed them into the tavern where the rest of the town was waiting for them. So many cries of “She’s here!” and “Open a new crate!” filled the little bar that the voices of the people greeting Six were buried in the noise of people. They could only shake her hand furiously or thump her on the back and get out of the way for the next person, and then the next person, and so on. Six’s thumping shoulder ached before she could get away and snag a cold Sunset Sarsaparilla from behind the counter when Trudy isn’t looking.

 

“How are you there, youngster?” says a rough voice at the end of the bar. A ruddy-faced man hunches low over his beer, grasping it with fingers gnarled from years of hard work. “Not misbehavin’, I see.”

 

“Johnson Nash!” shouts Six hoarsely, sliding down to bump her pilfered bottle against his. “You son of a gun; if you’re here, who’s watching the Express? Ruby? Unless,” --she gasps hopefully-- “she’s here with you!?”

 

He made a dusty noise in his throat. “No, no. The missus is opening an’ closing. I left yesterday to meet you ‘n your friends, here, an’ I reckon the Express can forgive us for a few late letters for’n as long as we’ve been doin’ it.”

 

“You know we’re coming through Primm _tomorrow,_ right?" she says, a little incredulously. "You didn’t have to come to us, we very deliberately came to  _you!_ ” 

 

The old ranch hand immediately becomes gloriously flustered. “Well’n… Ruby needed some… 'scorpion stingers…” he grumbles, frowning and gesturing vaguely with his unfinished beer. “Wanted to make a casserole for all your friends and such…”

 

“Uh-huh,” says Six, who is not fooled for a second by his bluster. She clinks her bottle against his once more and slides off her stool. “I’m really glad to see you, Mr. Nash.”

 

“Mmm-hmm.” His voice gets stuck in his throat and Six has to turn away quickly. Just because her own eyelashes sparkle with the emotions  _directly caused_ by his thoughtfulness doesn’t mean he’s ready to reciprocate such a demonstration; it's not his way. She decides it's time to be somewhere else and takes a stroll.

 

Six passes the open front door where Lily crouches next to Easy Pete in his rocking chair. Jerry sprawls on the porch outside listening to them talk about the old times and writing in his notebook. Sunny, Cass, and Veronica sat together in the booths just inside, chirruping together about every subject under the sun at the speed of old-friends-on-a-time-limit. No outsider was going to get a word in edgewise there for hours and it made Six’s heart feel warm to hear their unending three-part sentence. In the other room, she could hear the rest of her team talking to Doc Mitchell, possibly the person she is most anxious to see. His voice is quiet with the kind of age that makes a person really stops to listen when he speaks.

 

She accidentally stands by the doorway to the back room for way too long doing _just that_  and feels a little embarrassed by herself, so she quickly turns away and with the kind of unnatural providence reserved for penny-dreadful romance books beloved by teenaged girls in Westside, Six spots the person in the last booth and feels her lips curl up in a smile.

 

Alone in the last booth of the bar, there sits a man in a dark brown suit. He is tall and thin with an intense expression only partially hidden by sunglasses and a black hat with a narrow brim. An iced drink sits on the table before him but it appears untouched, maybe even freshly poured. Six watches a bead of condensation gather and roll down the glass before she makes the decision that her talk with Doc Mitchell can wait a little longer. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to have a conversation with this gentleman right here - as a matter of fact, she very much did! - but she had hoped it would be later in the evening when her companions made themselves  _much_ drunker and they wouldn't feel intruded upon by curious ears. Nevertheless, she gently clinks the bottom of her bottle to the rim of his glass and slides into the booth across from him.

 

“Mr. Fox,” she says. He inclines his head as though looking at her though, of course, his dark eyes are hidden behind his reflective sunglasses so she can't be certain. “I _am_ surprised to see you here. What brings you to the sleepy hollow of Goodsprings?”

 

“Well,  _now_  I'm sharing a drink with the beautiful, savage leader of my Lord's future territory.” His words are suave like a real city slicker's but Six hears the microtonal shifts in his voice that exposes his charm as a well-practiced performance. Of course, she already knows it's an act - Mr. Fox himself taught her what to listen for ages ago - so now the question is whether she’s getting better at detecting his tricks or if he’s letting her hear them on purpose.

 

"You  _dog_ ," she says, coquettishly leaning away and fanning her own face as if she is embarrassed by his compliment. "You know just what to say to a girl."

 

He doesn't react to her behavior outwardly but then again, he rarely does. Six had stopped expecting him to make helpful facial expressions even before she'd known his true name and calling. It had been a difficult obstacle to overcome. Now, she just finds other ways to entertain herself throughout conversations with him and trusts that he'll be an adult who is capable of telling her to stop when it becomes too much. He never, _ever_ does so for Six, this conversational strategy quickly became a never-ending scientific study to find the limit of his stoicism and leap exuberantly upon it to record his reactions. She  _enjoys_ her work.

 

Her reward is the deep breath he has to take through his long, pointed nose before he can speak in his smooth voice again. "You will be pleased to find that tonight my duty brings me the opportunity to turn the tables, so to speak, and play the part of a courier." He produces a sealed manilla envelope from the bench beside him and sets it on the table between them. In thick black Sharpie on the front is written:

 

Courier Six

Paragon of Virtue

Prospector Saloon, Goodsprings

Mojave United

 

Surprised, she looks back up to see that he is observing her closely over the rims of his sunglasses. His eyes are so piercing, just like she remembers. She feels transfixed by his attention, as though his empty pupils are matte black darts with the power to prick deep into her mind. Her heart skips a beat and worse, she fails to hide the thrilling effect his gaze has on her. His eyebrows lift briefly out of their customary scowl; Inculta's version of a smile.

 

"Special Delivery," Vulpes Inculta declares softly, hiding his eyes again.

 

"So I see," she laughs a little weakly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and turning her attention to the parcel. The envelope is new with crisp yellow paper and fairly flat but she can feel a few small lumpy things inside despite its padding. "Do I need to sign for it, Mr. Mailman?" Six purrs.

 

"No," he says, back to business and deaf to her flirtations again. "Don't even open it until you are alone. Tell me about your plan, instead.”

 

“The one where we get all the tribes of Nevada together, sign a fancy charter, and call it Macaroni United? You were at the speech; you heard the same thing as everyone else.”

 

“No, the one where you spread your legs wide enough for even the lowest god of immorality to fuck a baby into your sandy womb that can lead the nation after your execution.”

 

Neither one of them moves for as long as it takes Six to burst out laughing; about 30 seconds. "You must practice in front of a mirror!" she hoots, taking off her red felt hat and throwing it dramatically on the table to emphasize her feelings about his excellent joke. "What a... _syntactically elevated_ fantasy you have."

 

"Oh, I don't know about 'fantasy'. I think it could be a rather interesting idea," he said mildly, tracing the rim of his untouched drink and playing with the condensation between his fingertips. " _If_ it were true, that is."

 

"You're joking!" exclaims Six sotto-voce. "The plan where I catfish a bunch of baby-daddies all over the valley and trick them into forming a democratic centralized government with me? You think _that_ plan is interesting?" 

 

"Absolutely," he says with mechanical confidence. "A man will fight very hard to protect his property. He might even do so with heretofore undiscovered skill if he believes he has to first  _prove_  his worth to have it."

 

"The baby, in this scenario of yours, being the property men are fighting to protect... from one another?"

 

Vulpes makes a curious motion with his hand in the air between them. His long, precise fingers curl as though around the handle of something which he flicks at an invisible target over her shoulder. "Until the undeserving are eliminated."

 

Courier Six swallows uncomfortably and looks down at the parcel he brought for her. "That... is not how I would envision the end of a... story like that."

 

"Oh no?" he says, shifting oh-so-minutely forward to focus his attention on her. He puffs out his chest and angles his shoulders to imitate an amorous man trying to convince a woman to accept a drink from him. "Maybe you need to find a different co-author."

 

"Ha, ha, yeah," Six laughs, ignoring the way her blood rushes in her ears to look at him like that. It's a... startling good imitation. "A different co-author. Very funny." 

 

Vulpes drops his ridiculous pose but isn't deterred by her flippancy. "Have you considered it?"

 

She shakes her head jerkily and resolutely stares at the yellow envelope. "I don't understand what you me- "

 

"-Stop pretending as though your obtuse manner isn't a cowardly, devious response to the fragility of your situation, Courier, and consider the question!"

 

 _That_ was his real voice. Gone now is the oily sneer from before, when he was letting her pretend that their conversation ever could be casual. Vulpes' undisguised voice is soft like warm sand but cuts like shattered glass in a windstorm. It's the kind of voice that comes from the dark shadows in a person's brain at night to whisper awful nothings before sleep. It _scares_  Six. Her breath quickens as though she were sliced by his sharp voice which floods her heart with adrenaline. Her hands shiver in her lap, unable to run away. 

 

Vulpes holds her there with his eyes and says, "You are laying your chips on a wild, desperate gamble because there is  _something_  out there that you fear to lose more than your need to hold the reins of your own future. So tell me, Courier... what  _do_ you fear?"

 

 _You,_  her mouth almost betrays her. It wouldn't be the truth, anyway.  _Slavery_ , she thinks next, envisioning one of the deadly collars her team had to pull off people before they could safely escape a life of brutality. That isn't correct either; she knows what her real fear is. She presses her lips together to fight off the taste of grave dirt in her mouth and looks around the Prospector's Saloon. It is much emptier now than when Six and her team had arrived, though a huge pile of boots still lays by the open door through which familiar voices still sing and joke together. She can identify every pair's owner.

 

Trudy's leans into the bar to announce that the subsequent rounds are now on the house. "I think they're decidin' what kinda drinkin' game to play first," she says, pointing outside with a nod of her head. "If you want a say, you'd better make tracks out here."

 

"We'll be right there," Six promises and she stands, ready to follow when something seizes her hand! She jerks it away but the sensation vanished just as soon as she felt it. On the table, Vulpes' hands are folded together where she can see them clearly. He doesn't point his face towards hers but Six notices that his long-neglected glass is now empty. It sits innocently beside its own thick ring of condensation. Had she seen him move it? Suspiciously, she looks at her hand and spies two droplets of cold water on the back.

 

"Mr. Fox," she says after a beat, "...you should stay. Come play a game with us."

 

"Absolutely not," he sneers. "I have my Lord's work to do."

 

"You don't have to stay long if you don't want to... but it might help you understand my answer to your question."

 

He purses his lips and stiffly looks away from her muttering, “I won’t drink.”

 

Six smiles impishly and raises her empty Sarsaparilla bottle. “Neither will I.”

 

Doc Mitchell wasn’t in the back room of the Saloon anymore. Neither was anyone else, actually, they had all dragged Trudy’s stools and chairs outside to make a big haphazard circle on the porch and plugged the radio in out there as well. They sat elbow to elbow passing around drinks and chatting across the space, completely heedless of volume or direction. The old wooden porch groaned pitifully to bear so much weight but felt just as sturdy as ever for its complaining. They paid it no mind.

 

When Six came out with a fresh bottle of Sarsaparilla, the good doctor was the only person still standing. He held his hat in his hand, ready to go home for the evening. “Y’all, she can come and see me tomorrow before you leave, it’s no problem a’tall.”

 

“Oh, Doctor,” says Arcade, looking up from the drink he was mixing for Trudy, “We’re leaving _quite_ early tomorrow. Are you sure?”

 

“I’ll be up anyways. Old bones don’t lie well on a bed anymore,” he said, patting one knee.

 

“Dios!” exclaimed Raul, shooting the rest of the drink in his hand. “I hear you!” Several others laughed.

 

“Doc!” said Six, almost at the same time. “You’re leaving already? We’re just about to start a game; won’t you play?”

 

Jerry accepted something fizzy to drink from Arcade who was playing bartender while Trudy propped her feet up on the rolling chair from her office. “What are we playing?” he asked, sipped his drink and wrinkling his nose.

 

“Bullshit!” shouted Cass God-only-knows how many whiskeys deep.

 

“Bullshit is a card game, though,” said Sunny, pouring a Nuka Cola into a cup with no label.

 

The Doc smiles and puts his hat on his bare head. “Naw, you kids have your fun. This old man needs to roll on home.”

 

“Would you at least let me walk you home?” asked Six, immediately stepping off the old wooden porch. “Cass, can you pour me a cup of somethin’? I'll just be up that way.”

 

They turned away and began to walk to his house on the hill. His front light was on, but the rest of the houses on the high street were silent and dark. “Wasn’t a need for you to walk me to my door, little Lady.” 

 

“I’m happy to get out of the noise for a minute if I’m honest.”

 

“Awful nice of you, still.”

 

“Sure.” He was like other old men in Nevada, kind and generous to a fault but completely unable to accept the positive consequences of their actions. As a city girl, Six found it frustrating and endearing in equal measure when you couldn't simply tell them 'thank you'.

 

The gravel crunches under their shoes. “Sunny sure is as big as the moon,” comments Six, casting about for conversation.

 

“Oh yes, ma’am,” he said with a touch of pride. “I think this one’ll make it. The fetus is already kickin’ strong in her and the heart sounds good.”

 

Six glanced sideways. “‘Makes it?’”

 

“Mm-hmm,” he said making the same dry throat noise Nash sometimes did when the answer was ‘yes’ but he didn’t want to say it out loud. “Ringo might not have told you, I know Californians are still a bit strange about babies and whatnot, but Sunny and he originally got hitched because of a baby on the way.” A completely reasonable reaction, but Sunny was only pregnant with her _first_ child so...

 

Her voice fell. “I’m… sorry to hear that.” It was hard enough to survive in the Mojave when all the cards were stacked in the desert's favor. Doc Mitchell, the only capable practitioner of medicine for miles, knew better than anyone else what adverse effect things like radiation exposure, heat stroke, radscorpion stings, and malnourishment had on healthy, adult patients. It was only harder to face the reality lived by his patients; rural women just couldn’t seem to stay mothers.

 

Six thought back to Dr. Usanagi’s wish back at the clinic. Maybe Sunny could use her luck more.

 

“No sense in feelin' down about it, now. Everything’s not all bad,” he said after Six failed to share her thoughts. His mustache twitched. “I guess they decided they liked to practice making babies so much they went and good at it.”

 

Her laugh echoed down the dark street. “You dirty old man, you.”

 

He shook his head as though exasperated with himself, climbed the stairs to his front door, and stopped. “Oh,” he said, half turning back, “Wait right there. I’ve got something for you.”

 

“You what?” said Six, but her only answer was the screen door slamming behind him. Through the mesh, she saw him walk down the hall towards his bedroom and kitchen. A moment later, he turned around and walked into his medical studio. Then, he came back into the hall and looked through _every last one_ of his bookshelves - he even disappeared briefly to check the ones in his sitting room - before picking up a mason jar on the bench by the door, presumably where he put it so he could remember to bring it to the Saloon with him earlier.

 

“Here, these are the vit’mins Sunny’s taking.” He shuffled back down the stairs and handed her a glass quart jar filled to the very back of the lid with dark green candies about the size of gumdrops. They look squishy and leave faint green trails on the glass when the tips it over to look more closely. “Now, you’ve got to chew two of ‘em a day, but they taste about like somethin' you scraped off your boot and coffee don’t help to wash ‘em down one bit, so you’ll want lots of water…”

 

Six shakes her head. “Wait, you’re giving me Sunny’s vitamins?”

 

“Well, I made this batch separate for you but yes, it’s the same stuff.”

 

“But Sunny’s…”

 

“Expecting? Yes.” He wipes the corner of his mouth with the handkerchief from his back pocket and looks carefully at how he folds it when he continues speaking. “One of your friends sent me a letter askin’ if I had anything special for a young woman who might be tryin’ to have a baby.”

 

Which of her friends would be most likely to get a letter to Doc according to a schedule? "Was it Arcade... or maybe Veronica?” she asked.

 

“Maybe so, the letter was only signed with a ‘V’. Don’t be sore at her, now,” he said quickly, stuffing the handkerchief back in his jeans, “If it was a secret, she didn’t say nothin’ too specific. I reckoned it was for you when Trudy said you’d been pinchin’ sarsaparillas all night 'stead of draining her store of good scotch like usual...”

 

“V…” she echoed quietly, nearly to herself, then looked back down the street towards the Saloon. The noise of the party wasn’t too faint at this distance, though individual voices blurred together into a happy hum. Just outside the warm light of the tired neon bulbs, a thin man in a dark brown suit stood in the street, hat on his head. She saw a reflection of flashing lights in his sunglasses, pointed towards her.

 

“-That should be enough, though,” said Doc Mitchell, repeating himself a little louder to regain her attention.

 

Embarrassed, she turned back to him cradling the jar of prenatal vitamins with both arms. “It’s just so… thoughtful,” she said, only half pretending that her brief rudeness was due to emotion.

 

He flapped his hand in the air as though shooing away any thanks. “Now, little Lady, I've got a serious question for you. No foolin', now! Is there some young rooster out there plannin’ on making an honest woman of you? Because I’m here to give him a talking to about how to treat a gal right and what time y’all should be home and such.”

 

Six snorts. “Oh, Doc. I don’t think gettin' hitched is in my future, do you?”

 

“Maybe, maybe not,” the old man said. “That fancy surgeon said you were ‘shopping around’ or suchwhat... Never heard of such a thing in my day.” He sniffed pointedly and stood up straighter, hooking his thumbs in his suspenders. “All the same! I’ll take my cane to a whole _flock_ _of cocks_ before any patient of mine runs away with some… _dusty good-for-nothing layabout…_ ”

 

“Doc, no!” she gasped between peals of laughter. “No. It's too much!"

 

He taps his cane seriously on the ground. "He'd better treat you the way you deserve, little Lady," he insists gruffly.

 

Her mouth went dry. She licked her lips enough to whisper, "I hope he does, too."

 

There didn't seem to be much more to say after that. Doc promised to try and see her off in the morning. She hugged his worn bones and waited until he turned off the porch light and locked the door before she looked back down the street, searching for Vulpes in his suit and hat.

 

The main street was empty. Now there was just the noise and light of her friends sitting together.

 

It didn't hurt, per se - in fact, it might have been a greater surprise if Mr. Fox had decided to stay - but still, her footsteps slowed to make time to put aside her hope for now. Maybe it was just too much to ask his Legion morality to include one night of fraternization. One day, perhaps, he might be ready to sit down and play a game with her. 

 

One day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK. Now you can tell me what you think of it. I'm a big girl, I can handle it, I swear.
> 
> ...If it's too raw, please include cute gifs of cats being derpy. Thank you.


	9. THE CHAPTER WHEREIN the King and the Rook go to make a Castle, but the Queen is already, um... Crowned.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word out of Camp Golf is that many NCR troops can expect redeployment in the immediate future. One anonymous soldier said it was part of a new strategy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one in the New Vegas Team plays chess. Raul could, but doesn’t. Arcade can, but won’t and Cass should remember why. V's bored by it, Six never learned... and who can find a complete set of pieces in the Mojave anyway?? Sorry, sorry… this digression went on too long. Let’s go.

“Hey Six,” says Veronica’s voice, far too chipper for dark ‘o clock in the morning. “It’s time to get up. Let’s go!”

 

“...5 more minutes.”

 

“ _Pffft-_  I’m not giving you 5 minutes! Raul asked for 20 and at least he had the decency to try and bribe me for it!”

 

Six raises her head a little. “What’d he offer?”

 

“N-nothing.”

 

Six sits up and locks eyes with her best friend. “What’d he offer you, Veronica Santangelo?”

 

“...He said he’d detail my power armor, inside and out.”

 

“Damn it!” Six says, toppling back into her sleeping bag. “That’s _absolutely_ worth 20 minutes.”

 

Veronica smiles and knocks loudly on the metal exterior of the rented Airstream. “That’s what I thought, too. Trudy’s made breakfast.”

 

“How about if I let you use the master suite of the 38? It’s got walk-in closet! V!!”

 

“Too late!” calls V over her shoulder. “Get your ass out of bed!!”

 

The back door of the Saloon slams shut and Six's eyes fly open. _I'll get up,_ she tells herself, _but first..._

 

The manila folder that Vulpes Specially Delivered to her last night is hidden under her duster. It was a struggle, but she was patient through six drunken rounds of Bullshit last night _dying_ to see what was inside and even Trudy’s infamous agave nectar pancake breakfast wasn’t going to stop her now. She slits open the top and eagerly turns it over.

 

A rough piece of paper that has been folded into an envelope falls into her hand, about the same size as her palm. Instead of glue, the little envelope's corners are held together by a red wax seal which has been impressed with the symbol of a charging bull. Pulling an embedded piece of twine breaks the wax and the paper opens to reveal a gold coin on a leather thong. The shining coin is also stamped with the image of a bull on the front but LEGO CAESAR engraved on the back. Six looks back at the paper and sees a message written on the inside.

 

 _The Mark of Caesar grants inviolable passage through Legion territory_. _It is not bestowed lightly_ _, Courier._

 

Six notices the precise corners of the capital letters and has to look away quickly with a gulp. Vulpes Inculta is _not_ the kind of man to render his aid for straightforward reasons, so there is every possibility that she will later come to regret accepting this valuable token from him. _Then again, maybe not,_ she thinks next, looking again at the Latin inscription on the back of the coin. Perhaps he could be reliable if he'd been  _ordered_ to give it to her by someone. Caesar himself perhaps... or his Legate.

 

She stuffs the coin necklace in the breast pocket of her duster to worry about _after_ coffee and then looks nervously into the manila folder again. At the bottom is the second part of her delivery: a folded piece of plain lined paper. No wax seal, address, or sender on the outside; the paper is just a little grey with age and appears to have been ripped from a spiral notebook.

 

Hesitantly, she opens it to discover the letter’s author and immediately goes rigid with shock. Too quickly to comprehend a single word, Six reads the note, so she reads it again. Then she smiles and reads it again. And again. And when she finally feels full of reading its words, she refolds it exactly and tucks it beside the golden coin necklace, safe in her inside pocket on the right side. A moment later when she belts on her duster to go in, the paper crinkles against her skin through the jacket's lining, reminding her of the message she now carries in her brain:

 

_6,_

_Diane sent me on another run long before you’ll be ready to leave today. I’m sorry I’ll miss you going but Sonoyta’s only two weeks there and back. I know you’ll be busy saving the Wasteland right about then but if you’ve got a little time for a savage whose only talent is outrunning the law, you should let me know and I can take you on a different kind of tour._

_Anders_

 

xXx

 

“Have all you youngsters got the sleep out of your eyes, yet? You done got yourselves licked by a 70-year-old dog with a limp and you still look like you're 'bout to fall over dead. Here son, try some coffee." Johnson was in a superior mood today. Without too much hyperbole, he had absolutely beaten the New Vegas Team down the hill from Goodsprings, tapping his cane with good humor at their cranky groans and stumbles the whole way. 

 

Jerry had been especially sleepy all morning, alternating between walking insistently towards the front of the group near Veronica and Arcade, realizing that he was a danger to those walking around him, and choosing to sleep adorably in the angle of Lily’s shoulders and the big wooden crate. He'd perked up a little in the Nash’s kitchen at first - especially when Ruby had pulled the lid off an iron pot the size of a trash can to show them a huge, spicy casserole that had been slow-cooking since yesterday - but now he sat on the stairs next to Arcade, drowsing. Johnson pushes a cup of beautiful, oily black coffee into his hand and goes to open the Mojave Express while Ruby passes out lunch. The skinny teen had obviously never seen a crumb of food in his life. Clearly, the  _pile_ of pancakes he’d demolished at breakfast was an indication of a future trend and the casserole in his bowl disappears the moment she looks away.

 

“I’m glad you like it!” she says, smiling at his bashful look. “The secret is in the venom!” She is just bringing him a second helping when...

 

“Ruby…” Johnson called from the front counter. His voice was anxious, an oddity that made even Boone look up from his meal. “Ruby! Come quick.”

 

Mrs. Nash set down her ladle and rushed to her husband right away, also alerted by his urgent tone. Their voices buzzed together in a harsh whisper around the corner, too quietly for anyone in the kitchen to hear, though they tried their collective best not to appear disappointed by this. Six looked at Cass, who shrugged and became fascinated by the salt and pepper shaker on the table. Arcade pressed his lips together, then quietly continued a conversation with Jerry, who was trying so hard not to inhale this bowl, too.

 

Six knew better than to ignore this kind of tension and started to prepare herself. The air felt tight like the head of a cold drum.

 

Johnson and Ruby returned from the front room holding a single sheet of paper between them. Ruby looks quite agitated, rubbing her hands dry vigorously on her apron, but Johnson’s mood is a mystery. Age has washed away his sins in more than one way. While the slow muscles in his face let his thoughts remain private, his dignity pays for it every time he takes out his handkerchief to wipe stray spittle from his slack lips. Johnson did so like usual, dabbing the red cloth brusquely to his mouth, then pressed his cane into the floor in order to address them like a man, standing tall.

 

He held out the paper to Six, speaking gruffly. “Youngun’, I expect you’d better have a look at this. I know it ain't no honorable thing for a postman to do, but you’ll know better than I if’n it’s important or not.”

 

“Is that someone else’s mail?” asked Arcade, scandalized.

 

“ _Yes_ ,” said Ruby, picking up her ladle and scooping another portion of casserole into half a cut whiskey barrel for Lily, who is too big to fit inside the Mojave Express building. She frowned at the paper on her way out back, adding a little waspishly, “Not _everything_ illegal is your business to protest, Johnson.”

 

“A wan’s Word is truer than his Law,” he said implacably as though it were an irrefutable fact and held the paper out to Six again.

 

This time, she took it. If it was worrisome enough for Johnson Nash to encourage her to commit a felony _and_ disagree openly with his wife on the same day, then whatever this letter contained was too crucial to ignore. She looked at the seal of the New California Republic in the top left corner and read:

 

Lt. Hayes, NCRA

5th Battalion, 1st Company

Primm, NV

 

SUBJECT: WARNORD (Paper Copy)

 

  1. The purpose of this memorandum is to redundantly inform NCR commanders in verified Unreliable Tech Zones regarding Type 2 notifications. (Refer to AR.3.6.i)
  2. NCR troops are to strike camp upon receipt of this memorandum and secure HAM radio confirmation with most senior comms officer in their operational area.
  3. All units should be prepared for immediate reassignment.



 

LEE R. OLIVER

General, NCR Army

 

CASSANDRA H. MOORE

Colonel, NCR Army

 

“It’s military orders… from the General himself to that little military camp across the street.” Six looks up with surprise. “They’re being ordered to pack up their camp and they should prepare for reassignment immediately! This is big, right?”

 

Veronica took the orders from her and read, holding it so that Arcade and Jerry leaning together on the stairs can also see. “I don’t know,” she said. “I mean, it’s from General Oliver, sure… but it _only_ says to prepare for reassignment. That’s not a lot to go on...” She shook her head and let Arcade hand the paper across to Boone and Raul, sitting at a tray table by the back door. “This could be nothing.”

 

Boone read it and swore. “Old Wait-and-See? He’s been camping on the same trooper _graveyard_ for a year without so much as stretching his fucking dick towards the enemy! I’m with Six; something’s happening.”

 

“Those… are opposites, you guys,” said Cass. “It can’t be something and nothing at the same time.”

 

“No shit,” said Six, thinking fast. “Mr. Nash, I’m still an employee of the Mojave Express, right? Let me deliver it to Lieutenant Hayes personally. I’ll be able to ask him some questions and if he’s as surprised as we are, he might accidentally answer them.”

 

“Well now,” Johnson said, scratching his ruddy chin, “you haven’t delivered much lately, but I can’t say as I remember ever takin’ you off the payroll. Prob’ly darn near owe you a raise by now...” He gripped his cane and puttered behind the main counter to a cabinet which folded out into a neat secretary’s desk. With lightning precision, he seized a yellow piece of paper, dashed off the form for a short delivery, and handed it to her along with a clipboard and a pen. “Get a signature, now, y’hear?”

 

“Yessir,” she answered on her way out the door. “I’ll be right back!”

 

The door left her hand and she was off, running at top speed down the street. She didn’t give herself time to do much more than send up a vague prayer - not even for good news! - just to hope that whatever it was wouldn’t be too bad. Veronica could be right; she absolutely could be. Somehow… Six doesn’t think so. Her feet skidded on the gravel around the turn, nearly dumping her off the bridge but she regained her footing and continued running until the tent flap to Lieutenant Hayes’ HQ was an inch from her nose.

 

She closed her eyes to brace herself, then pulled open the flap. “Lieutenant Hayes?” she called.

 

“Yes?” said a youngish man with short brown hair, sitting at a terminal. He used the same tone all NCR officers did when an unknown outsider came into their camps; like an exasperated parent. “What’s your business?”

 

It’s funny. They had already met at least three times before, yet every time she had to remind him. “I’m Courier Six from the Mojave Express," she said patiently. "There’s a message for you here, please sign.”

 

“Courier... like that lunatic Courier Six on the Strip, huh?” he said, unaware of his own joke. He scrawled a loopy signature on her delivery form. “If it were me, I’d have changed my number.”

 

“Uh-huh,” she answered vaguely, holding up the single sheet of paper. “Special Delivery.”

 

“Thanks.” Lieutenant Hayes read it, reread it, and then frowned. “When did these arrive?”

 

“Only a moment ago. I was… the closest Courier when it came in.”

 

“Shit.”

 

“Is it true?” Six asked quickly as though unable to stop herself.

 

“I don’t know…” he said vaguely. The next instant, his head snapped up and he barked, “...and it’s _none_ of your business!” Decisively, he stood and swept out of the tent to call for his squad. Six followed. 

 

The camp was small, only housing 8 people at the most, but the sudden business made it feel quite full indeed. “We’ve got warning orders just in," he said without preamble, "Start packing up non-essentials to ship first. McGee, get on the radio and let Major Knight know we’ve just started tear down. He should have further instructions and if not, wait for some.”

 

“Lieutenant,” said Six, insistently standing in front of him. “What can you tell me about moving out? Do you know where you’re going? Were you expecting this? How soon can--”

 

Hayes interrupted her with one raised hand and said firmly, “I do not have any more information at this time and if I did, I wouldn’t be authorized to give it to you.” Thinking the matter resolved, he turned away from her again only to pull up short when she dashed around to face him again.

 

“But if you don’t know anything else, why are you in such a hurry to get packed?”

 

“Look, Courier,” he said irritably, “I don’t know how orders work where you come from but in the NCR when the brass says I need to pack up my shit and leave, then I pack up my shit and leave. Knowing the ‘why’ of an order doesn’t change whether I have to do my goddamn job or not. Now, if you will pardon me, madam--”

 

“ _But what if_ your general's fear is _wrong_ and All Law breaks down once you go?”

 

“That convict cowboy of yours is the new law in town. Why don’t you ask _him_ what to do?” he snaps with a dart of anger. His piercing blue eyes stop her words. Six reluctantly closes her mouth and steps back, still full of unanswered questions and though her lips tremble, holding back either words or tears, Hayes isn't going to stand around to find out. He finally turns to go begin the task of shredding irresponsible quantities of federal documents when his ears prick from the sound of crunching gravel behind him.

 

“But what about Primm?” says Six with a voice soft enough to be lost in a breeze. It's just Six asking; not the Courier, not their Savior... just a girl with a number instead of a name. “Aren’t you here to protect them?”

 

Jesse Hayes stopped. His heavy, standard-issue body armor rose and fell with the longest of sighs and when he turned to face her once more, his eyes were red. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing more I can do.” Even his voice sounded heavy. “But... there are other people out there relying on our service besides Primm. If you want to know more, someone at the Mojave Outpost might be able to help you.”

 

Six looked at the slump of his shoulders. “You really don’t know, do you?”

 

Jesse shook his head.

 

“Then, one last question, if I may.” A breath. “Is it as bad as we think?”

 

He opened his mouth, hesitated, and gently let his lips press closed again. His blue eyes dropped from hers and Courier Six decided that she didn’t need the answer after all.

 

“Okay. I’ll leave you to it. Good luck, Lieutenant.”

 

“...you, too, Courier.”

 

xXx

 

Typically, it takes a healthy adult 5 ½ hours to walk from Primm to the Mojave Outpost. Pumped up on uncertainty and _some_ Psycho, the New Vegas Team did it in 3 ½. While they arrived at the top of the hill more out of breath than they had been in Goodsprings after that vertical crawl, no one seemed in a mood to wait for their bodies to recover from the run or the drugs. Huffing and wheezing, they limp single-mindedly into the Admin building.

 

The front desk is abandoned. Jerry even runs down the hall to see if Ranger Jackson is in but returns alone. With an increasing sense of unease, Six and company turn around and go to the barracks instead. Lily, still wearing an enormous crate, elects to sit outside on a picnic table until they figure out where to put everyone’s packs. “GRANDMA WILL KEEP THEM SAFE FOR NOW, DEARS,” she says, sitting down heavily. Then she closes her eyes for a well-deserved Senior Citizen Siesta.

 

The others open the double metal doors and at the grating sound of unoiled hinges, every pair of eyes unblinkingly swings to look at them. It is _packed_ in here, maybe even Standing Room Only. Troopers and Californian merchants huddle together around little tables and cluster together half-standing around Lacey’s bar. She is working extra hard this afternoon, sliding a handful of drinks down the bar fast enough to turn heads, then immediately picking up a tray to hoof a dozen more out to the crowded tables.

 

"She's going to be hard to catch," says Cass. No stranger to this place, she shuffles sideways around some guards and shepherds everyone into a little space near the kitchen where they can stand together without elbowing the other patrons.

 

"Leave that to me," says a bold, raspy voice. With a wink, Raul saunters away to get the first round.

 

“Still think it’s nothing?” mutters Boone in an undertone to Veronica, who ignores him.

 

“ _Three weeks!_ ”

 

Six looks around with alarm at the sound of her own voice though she's the only one to do so. The radio on Lacey’s bar must be tuned to Radio New Vegas, which has been broadcasting the Speech once a day at various times. Cass shoulders Six, playfully teasing her for her startled reaction.

 

_“--Three weeks from today, we will host a congress here, at the Lucky 38, to write and sign a charter. This charter will establish the priorities and values of our community, as well as the rights and privileges due to every citizen. Send your representatives here to ensure that your voice is heard. The Lucky 38. Three weeks from now. Together, we can do more. Together, we can be more. Together, we are the Mojave United! United we stand! United we stand!”_

 

The radio audience cheers and picks up the chant just like the real one did not so long ago. Six smiles into her sarsaparilla.

 

“Switch it off!” A glowering trooper points at the radio, complaining darkly under her breath. Boone stirs beside Six as though to argue but Lacey calmly changes to a tinny channel out of Shady Sands. It’s jazzy enough to settle down her patrons... at least enough to return to playing Caravan with each other in tense mutters, sipping from too many beers to be so quiet.

 

Raul returns with a double armful of beer and a concerned expression. Quite practically after he'd ordered, he’d also asked Lacey about renting a couple of bunk beds for the night. Lacey said they'd see and ended the conversation.

 

“She didn’t even laugh at my bullet trick!” he says, almost offended. Unsure how to interpret that, he’d stepped outside to tell Lily she might have to wait a while until they knew more.

 

“It’s a little sad she can’t join us but she doesn’t like crowds much anyway,” reasons Arcade.

 

“That’s okay,” says Jerry, standing up. “I’ll go hang out with her.” He promptly picks up his beer, walks out the door, and does just that.

 

“That’s nice,” sighs Veronica. She scratches her head through a new green and yellow hood. “They’ve gotten really close.” 

 

All at once, the barracks goes silent except for the radio, which is playing a recording of the battle anthem for California. “ _Attention NCR Citizens! The following is an urgent address from President Kimball given earlier today at Hoover Dam. This is of special importance to any Californian residing in New Vegas or anywhere in the Mojave Wasteland. President Kimball follows._ ”

 

Lacey turns up the radio. No one pretends to play cards anymore.

 

The next voice to speak is lighter but clipped. It sounds like the cadence of an order that has been gentled into a request. " _My fellow Californians, this is your President, Aaron Kimball speaking. When the republic called on the men and women of California to carry that fire across the Mojave,_ you _answered. When it was time to spread the NCR way of life, you_ carried _the weight. You are the great western light of the Republic, torchbearers in the darkness, living reminders of all that is best in our nation and today, it pains me to ask for another selfless task from you. Please understand that I do not ask for this lightly, but rather, with the weight of lengthy consideration, to ensure the welfare of all NCR citizens._

_“The NCR’s time in the Mojave desert has come to an end. Every Californian inside the walls of New Vegas and out should begin the business of selling their foreign houses and possessions and make their homecoming journey immediately. NCR troops will be prepared to escort your families and loved ones across the border before it closes in three days time. Make all haste and travel lightly because once the border is closed, no ingress or egress will be allowed. For additional information, Californians should feel welcome to direct their questions to Ambassador Crocker or their local NCR official. Thank you for sharing your attention with me tonight. It is with great honor and pride that I am able to speak to each and every one of you as your Commander-in-Chief, Aaron Kimball, signing off. God Bless California."_

 

The radio blared another patriotic song and _everyone_ began talking at once. Caravan guards dashed out the front door, though no one bothered to ask why. Soldiers clumped together at once and begin jabbering at top speed about which people would be coming through first from which settlements. The Vegas team shouted at one another from across the room, completely forgetting to have any sense of decorum and right about when Lily stood up too fast and knocked over an entire table the CARAVAN GUARDS returned with their entire retinues of drivers and merchants and THEY started talking as full volume as well until…

 

BANG

 

Sergeant Kilborn stood in the metal doorway with a face that could crack stone. Several troopers spill their drinks in their haste to stand at attention. He lifts his bearded chin and begins issuing commands at Top Military Efficiency. “That’s enough sitting around on our asses sucking hooch for one day! Get moving!! Lacey, turn the radio to the emergency frequency, then get to the HAM and take down what it says. Your squad” --he points to a woman with a bandoleer-- “start clearing the road outside.” They salute and leave quickly. “And will someone tell Ghost to get her ass in here?” Kilborn shouts after them, then he rounds on the remaining soldiers.

 

“What are the rest of you sorry assholes waiting for? GET TO YOUR POSTS! _NOW!!_ ”

 

In almost no time, the barracks bar is completely vacant of troopers and merchants, who seem to have chosen not to argue with the explosive Sergeant. Only Courier Six, Veronica, Arcade, Cassidy, Boone, and Sgt. Kilborn remain.

 

Six turns to V to ask where Raul went but Kilborn marches right up to them and takes his turn first. “You people, the Courier’s crew. This station is about to be capital ‘o’ Overrun with legal NCR citizens going west or merchants with visas looking to get through the pass. Neither description fits you, so what’s it going to take to get _your_ people out of my checkpoint ASAP?”

 

“My… MY people?” she says, standing up to her full stature and planting her fists on her hips with ripe indignance. Courier Six, to the knowledge of almost everyone, is not a particularly tall person. In fact, every single one of her travel companions is taller than her but it seems to matter so infrequently that while they joke about everything else under the sun like good friends do, her insufficient height almost never earns a mention.

 

Sgt. Kilborn, on the other hand, has no such vertical challenge. He is a prime specimen of brahmin steak, purified water, and corn-fed Californian soldier and when he brings his entire countenance to bear, he _towers_ over little Six. “My patience is wearing thin. What words can I say that will get you and your South of the Border Patrol to MOVE IT??” Kilborn bellows, pointing his pistol aggressively at her chest on the last words. His dark skin mottled with rage.

 

She breathes through her nose and raises her hands slowly. Arcade and at least one other person behind her copies, but she is looking steadily, trustingly at Sergeant Kilborn, “Thank you, Sergeant, for allowing us the space to realize the urgency of the situation," she says in a light, casual voice. "We will, of course, be gathering our things just as _soon_ as possible but perhaps you could lend us a _friendly_ hand to get the ball rolling more quickly?”

 

His eyes look fit to burst out of his head from apoplexy. “ _Friendly_ …!? What do you want, Courier??”

 

She thinks wildly; this is an invaluable opportunity! They could invest this quick favor in something that’s about to become scarce like money or guns or medicine, but suddenly she catches Cass’s eye and the thought of using Kilborn’s dangerous impatience to score bandoleers full of ammunition flies from her mind.

 

Rose of Sharon Cassidy is neither a citizen of the NCR nor a merchant with a caravan any longer. It's a long and complicated story involving blackmail and plasma guns, but the fact is that when the border closes in three days, she will be locked out for good. 

 

At the last second, Six decides to do something else.

 

“I want a message delivery,” Courier Six says instead. “Label it ‘urgent’ and use my diplomatic handling privilege to get it over the border where it needs to go.” She squeezes Cassidy’s arm and drags her forward. “Whatever this girl would like to say to her father in Vault City.”

 

Sergeant Kilborn looks like he’d do _anything_ to make this conversation end. “Fine!” he says, holstering his gun. “Dictate your message to Comms Officer Radiohead and then _move out._ On the double!”

 

Briskly, he turns on his heel and leaves.

 

Cass turns to her friends immediately. “Oh God… this could be the last thing Dad ever hears from me! What- what should I say?” She looks terrified, shaking and pale.

 

Veronica answers promptly. “Tell him not to worry! There’s nothing he can do to help it now.”

 

“Maybe he _should_ be worried, though,” says Arcade.

 

“Tell him to buy you a _visa_ ,” grunts Boone with white-knuckled fists. At once, Arcade's calming hand is on his shoulder.

 

Rose of Sharon Cassidy used to sit on that stool over there, thinks Six, remembering how they’d met. Six had been on McLafferty’s payroll back then, trying to make a name for herself to buy her way onto the Strip. Cass had been trapped by an empty company. That was a long time ago, now.

 

“Tell him that... you love him... and that you’re going to do everything you can to stay safe.” Six shrugs. “Neither of those things are lies.”

 

Cass wipes her eyes on her pink gingham sleeve. “Okay.”

 

While she’s gone, the others run to join Lily, Jerry, and Raul at their picnic table outside. Raul, not being a fan of soldiers who yell, had slipped out earlier for a quieter drink. Now, he listens to what occurred after his exit with a grim expression. “I don’t have to tell you it’s bad news,” he said. “First World nations only make their people leave a territory when they think there’s no hope. It’s a desperate move, boss.”

 

“Is there no hope?” asked Jerry in a thin voice. He sat perched on Lily’s enormous foot, arms hugging his knees.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Six had forgotten for a second that this would be Jerry’s first public crisis. He’d fit in so well over the past two days, she might even have forgotten he was only 15. Or 14. _Memo to me: Ask Jerry how old he is. Make sure the United’s drinking age is low enough to include him._ “There’s always hope. Or whiskey.”

 

“Same difference,” said Arcade. Boone looks oddly at him. “What? Cass isn’t here right now.” He adjusts his glasses and folds his arms. “She’d want her say.”

 

Veronica laughs at that and the friends pick up their packs while Arcade tries to help Raul and they make a complete mess of tying the harness for Lily’s crate. Cass even comments on it when she returns, her cheeks scrubbed red but dry.

 

“What the hell happened to you?” she says, tucking a strand of red hair back under her hat. There is a snarl of rope across Lily’s shoulder that seems to connect to nothing, and the crate is either upside down or crooked. It’s hard to tell.

 

“I said I _thought_ I remembered how the knots went,” grumbles Arcade, trying to tie his already-tied boots. “I’m sorry that caravan rigging isn’t part of a _medical program_!”

 

“Hey, hey,” Whiskey Rose Cassidy says in a sweet, brushing voice. “We’re all trying our best here, right?”

 

“Right,” says Veronica, hugging her. Cass accepts it, but stands stiffly and has trouble figuring out what to do with her hands. Six comes around to the side and puts her arms around Cass as well.

 

Raul growls, “Disculpame, señoritas, pero,” --he throws his arms around all three women with a wink-- “this is the moment which has been a dream of mine for many, many nights. Mirame, Papá! I can die a happy man, now.” Without releasing his grip on them Raul turns his head and calls to the others, “Let’s go, amigos! It’s the end of the world again and we got work to do. Join the hug!”

 

Boone had never looked so completely offended by the concept of human contact in his life. “No!” he says through clenched teeth.

 

“Oh, yes!” says Raul, taking a step that drags all three giggling women with him.

 

“No!”

 

“Join the hug!”

 

“Stay away!”

 

“The hug is about to join you, niño, whether you like it or no.” Raul fixes him with the shadiest possible side-eye for a man with rotten eyelids. “My advice? _Brace yourself_.”

 

“JIMMY, JOIN THE HUG!” cries Lily, scooping up an indignant, ragdoll Arcade in one hand and charging in. She catches Boone, fruitlessly backing away in horror, in the other hand and then Jerry scrambles under her shoulder just in time to complete the team hug with a bone-cracking squeeze of her enormous arms. Obligatory moans and melodramatic wails of pain ensue.

 

“Ok, boss,” says Raul after everyone remembers how spines work again, “what’s the plan?”

 

Six and Veronica share a glance. “It’s tempting to say that we should turn around and get back to New Vegas immediately,” says V, “but… we should actually make tracks to Nipton. One, they’re expecting us anyway. Two, it’s not on the main road, so we’ll be out of the way of evacuees. Three, though…”

 

“They have a HAM that can receive military frequencies,” says Boone sotto-voce. “Manny lent them the one from Novac until they got settled.”

 

“Bingo.”

 

“Okay,” says Six. “That seems like a solid plan. The floor is open for other suggestions. No? Great, then we’re off.”

 

CRASH

 

Arcade and Raul’s knotwork failed. During the team hug, the ropes loosened and the crate slid out of Lily’s ‘harness’ to the ground. It wasn’t damaged, but it also wasn’t ready for transport anymore.

 

“Hold on,” says Cass with a grin. She takes out a new bottle of whiskey and puts it to her lips. “I’ve got this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These kids need a team name and I'm terrible at those. If you have any suggestions to help out a poor author, please let me know in comments. I appreciate you.


	10. THE CHAPTER WHEREIN Veronica becomes an Astronomer, Paulo thinks you are Quite Rude, and Arcade loses his Shit for, like, one whole minute.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, the overall NCR situation might not be great but on the other hand, the town of Nipton is doing alright for itself. Six comes to terms with the dangers of working with thinking, problem-solving people and Laurie has the opportunity to rise above it all.

It is a quiet journey down the mountain that evening. Each person is lost in their own thoughts or maybe they are just plain tired from already having completed one long, frantic hike today. Either way, Six and Veronica walk silently side by side down the road and watch the setting sun paint the mountains first pink and orange, then soft grey, and then finally become dark. A thin line of reflected moonlight is all that separates the unfocused brush stroke ridge from the quiet sky behind it. Veronica loves beautiful nights like this; the quiet gives her plenty of time to think, though the silence of her companion might have been enough. Beside her, Courier Six is watching Highway 93 stretch before them with dark eyes that track the road in an automatic sort of way. She alters her pace and course only enough to avoid potholes and stray bricks, then returns to a very even, ground-covering stride. It seems her friend is deep in thought this evening as well; indeed, there is a lot to think about.

 

V lets Six keep her eyes focused on the road while they walk while her own face is drawn up to the cloudless night. After a long life underground, Veronica is still fascinated by the stars. Millions of pinpricks of light flicker in clusters like a motherboard board tripping a cascade of circuits. It looks alive and dynamic like the electricity inside of a terminal that  _races_ to complete a program dashed off by Scribe Ibsen's fingers. Not for the first time, she wonders if the many connections of a motherboard aren’t just a tiny model of a vast, digital universe wherein each person's solid body is a closed circuit and the space where they aren’t is an open one so the business of each person's existence flickers like the stars' light trips and twinkles down through the atmosphere... yeah, it still sounds crazy. Smiling at her own imagination, Ex-Scribe Santangelo looks over her shoulder at their cluster.

 

Arcade, Raul, and Jerry walk side by side behind them engrossed in conversation. She can’t hear what they’re talking about, exactly, but it looks like Raul is telling a story to his walking partners, who are demonstrating their shared curiosity with many, many questions. The old ghoul is preening under the extra attention while Jerry listens to Arcade’s commentary with wide eyes and a fast-moving pencil. Upon learning that Jerry’s literacy had come from the Followers, Arcade had become interested in awakening a potential research partner in the young man. Veronica, also blessed with a love of learning from the Brotherhood, was interested to watch this develop.

 

Despite the late hour, Lily is easy to see behind the gentlemen. She’s having a good night; she is able to chat at a reasonable volume with Cassidy, who is pointing to different things off the highway, and her face isn’t locked in the painful grimace indicative of her cyclical mental episodes. Having Jerry to look after seems to have calmed her as of late and Veronica wonders if she isn’t working her tactful magic on Cass, who probably needs a distraction the most right about now. Anyone would.

 

Clothed in the darkest possible armor, 1st Recon Sniper Boone dutifully acts as his own spotter at the back of the group. He scans the landscape to either side of the road in measured sweeps, turning his head back and forth easily but producing only the tiniest flicker of light from his sunglasses. Why he wears them in the dark makes no sense! Not only would sunglasses make the night appear _even darker_  but they would also obscure the beautiful sky! Traveling under the open Mojave skies had given her time to fall in love with the stars’ elegant dance and now… she couldn’t imagine living without being able to see them. Maybe Boone’s priorities were just different.

 

It was Six who had given her the courage to leave the safety of the Brotherhood. When Six had met her, she'd been more than done with her chapter's indecisive, narrow-minded, refusal-to-acknowledge-a-flawed-plan attitude but… it occurs to her that she doesn’t know whether Craig Boone regrets leaving Novac to chase Six and her outrageous dreams. Veronica knows how hard it is to leave anyplace a person may have called ‘home’ and despite his constant dissatisfaction, their irritable sniper might have been content to remain in the only place he had ever known happiness. Six had mentioned something about his late family and a vicious betrayal in the tiny T-Rex town but otherwise, his companions received no further detail after Craig came home with her one day and crashed forever on their couch. Despite several month's solid effort and friendship, however, he’d proved recalcitrant and no one ever learned more about his history with Novac or the Legion. Eventually, V simply forgot that he had a past before Six at all.

 

Quickly, Veronica snaps her attention forward remembering that Boone is able to focus on what’s _beside_ the road because she and Six are watching what’s _on_ the road. _At least Six was_ , thinks Veronica with relief. In the time her mind wandered, Six had reliably guided them down the straight road to their destination and now V is seeing one of Six's favorite projects for the first time. On the bones of the ruined town, a new Nipton, full of volunteer settlers interested in running a big agricultural co-op and not afraid of a little hard work without much support close by. It’s not very old but its citizens are industrious and their hardwood-and-barbed-wire perimeter wall has a couple of new spotlights, swinging back and forth to scare off ants, raiders, and geckos. V, in fact, signed off on the paperwork to pay for the materials but other than that, she only knows a few disparate facts about it and she has been eager to see Nipton for herself.

 

“Hello!” she calls, resisting the urge to knock by obnoxiously punching the gate. “We’re with Courier Six out of New Vegas! We were supposed to be here tomorrow but it became urgent that we get here ASAP. Please let us in!”

 

The searchlight on the left swings to illuminate them and a dusty woman's voice exclaims, “Oh my gosh, it’s them!” When she directs the light back out of their eyes, they see her leather armor has a silver star pinned to it. “Open the gate!” she orders and a heavy steel section of wall rolls open on its tracks, pulled to one side by a metal cable looped around an old shopping cart wheel.

 

“Where is Seneschal Argent?” calls Arcade through the gap.

 

“I think she’s asleep,” grunts another woman in a tank top and cargo pants. All by herself, she is manually opening the heavy metal gate with a crank-like winch, though her muscles of her thick arms ripple with the effort of doing so. “It’s, like, 1 in the morning.” V sees that her long rope of brown hair is clipped severely into a bun high on her scalp. Having strays ripped out by the ramshackle pully system must  _suck._  

 

“I know, friend,” says Six to Nipton's sheriff, stepping smoothly through the half-open gate. “I apologize for the inconvenience, I really do, but we must see her and that charming assistant of hers... what’s his name? You know, with the executive briefcase collection.”

 

The gatekeeper dusts off her leather gloves and sniffs, “Hm!” She nods down the street and says, “Paolo might still be up and working in the Hall but I’ll send someone to get Laurie to meet you there, too.”

 

“Thanks,” says Veronica. “Do you need help with the gate?” Without waiting for an answer, she seizes the metal gate itself and rolls it back in place using the enhanced strength of her armor. It might be heavy, bulky, and difficult as sin to travel in but power armor, clearly, has its advantages.

 

The woman in the tank top quickly locks the winch in place and jumps back. “Wow! Handy.” She adjusts her brown bun and turns to her new, friendly helper. "Thanks a lot."

 

"I thought so!" says Veronica with a winning smile and holds out a gauntlet to shake. "Veronica Santangelo."

 

"Melanie," she replies with her own smile. She is missing a front tooth and she pokes her tongue ridiculously through the hole, which makes V laugh. Melanie the muscle straightens up and rolls her shoulders with a satisfying crack of weary bones. "Laurie and Paulo will meet you in Town Hall. Just go on in, it's not locked or anything," she says.

 

"Thanks. Uh, it was nice to meet you." V waves unnecessarily and says, "See you!" 

 

"Uh-huh. See you soon." Melanie's agreeable grin follows her around the corner.

 

When her friend returns to the front of the group, Six doesn't mention Veronica's absence. In fact, she says nothing at all. She just stands before the steps of Town Hall gazing at the closed doors. To one side, Arcade is telling Lily, Raul, Jerry, and Cass to go ahead on up to where they'll be staying and sleep. Veronica doesn't see Boone but that's the case sometimes. _He'll turn up again when he's good and ready._

 

Six's dark eyes are fixed on a point just a little above her natural gaze, as though looking at something a little taller than herself. V looks at the second floor of Nipton Town Hall thinking someone is up there and communicating with her but the windows are dark and empty. When she looks back down, the others are trudging to bed and Six's eyes don't register their passing. Her face is ashen.

 

"Um... Six?" says Veronica gently, bumping her friend's elbow with a gauntlet. "The door isn't locked, so we can go in whenever."

 

The smaller woman inhales sharply as though rising suddenly from a nap and blinks. "The door isn't locked, you say?" she says in a tense, distracted voice. "All right. Let's go then. Into the building." Jerkily, Six ascends the stairs and Veronica and Arcade follow her through the doors.

 

It’s a good thing she came back to herself because it seems the hard work of the Nipton populous is evident in every corner of this building. It looks _transformed_ from the bleak picture Six painted of a junk-filled ruin into a comfortable regional community center. In the front room are many tables and chairs for people to gather and chat during the day while a rack of newspapers and magazines stands near a metal coffee pot large enough to properly caffeinate an entire town of farmers at a moment's notice. The restrooms, instead of being divided into Ladies and Gents, are now Toilets and Showers which is, in Veronica's opinion, much more practical. The back rooms are still meeting rooms and offices for the community but now they have a feeling of being "lived-in". The walls look freshly painted and the desks are decorated with posters, coffee mugs, and a few working terminals.

 

The second-floor rooms used to be more offices and conference rooms but Laurie wisely had them outfitted with beds and trunks to accommodate traveling out-of-towners and the several farming families who now used Nipton as their main trading post. She wanted everyone to feel welcome to rely on the new town for support and providing guest rooms with amenities like drinking fountains and lockers had been a considerate and effective move.

 

"Goodnight, gentlemen!" Veronica calls to Jerry and Raul who have settled into the east guest room on the second floor. Cass, in the west room, is already snoring and Lily is absent, though her crate is placed neatly in the corner. 

 

Arcade, Veronica, and Six continue up to the top floor, where the mayor's office has been replaced with a Follower's clinic. Veronica already knows that Dr. Gannon will want to spend all day practicing medicine there, comparing research notes and training the local physician. Veronica thinks that maybe Jerry should go with him considering that his love of words came from the Followers of the Apocalypse themselves. Six doesn't turn left into the clinic, however, because their destination is opposite: the office of Seneschal Laurie Little Argent.

 

This brave soul had been the first volunteer to accept Six's Nipton resettlement project and thus had earned herself the brand-new job title of Seneschal. While probably less powerful than a Mayor, Seneschal Argent acts as the town's headwoman and has the authority to make and enforce final decisions on behalf of the Mojave United. The current success of the town is enough evidence of Laurie's ability to manage people but according to some letters Veronica read, she is also very good at leading projects and motivating others. V knows how relieved Six is to have a competent person in charge.

 

They knock and the door is answered by Laurie herself, wrapped in a vibrant purple bathrobe. "Courier!" says Laurie, hugging Six. Veronica sees that her fingernails are also painted purple just before she is pulled into a hug herself. "It's awfully late!"

 

"Yes it is," says Six with relief. The dark circles under her eyes are outshined by the fond expression on her face. "The ladies at the gate thought you might be asleep already."

 

"Wouldn't you know, it's the darndest thing? I should have known something was up when I went home three hours ago and couldn't sleep a wink! I hope your trip wasn't too bad, although I guess your premature arrival says otherwise, doesn't it?" She points a questioning look at Arcade, the last person to receive an embrace.

 

"Indeed!" exclaims a voice before Arcade can hope to form a response. Laurie, while amazing, isn't able to run the place by herself but her secretary, Paolo Vasquez-Hernandez, is exactly the kind of Type A personality who loves to handle mountains of paperwork while agonizing over every detail. At the same time, his devotion to both the governmental hierarchy and Laurie's vision was unquestionable. Together, they were clearly making Nipton into something special and Paolo was going to organize the hell out of it.

 

"You couldn't send a radio message, even?" he says with a tone something like reproach, scrutinizing their haggard appearance over a pair of silver-rimmed glasses.

 

"Ah... no," Six says, her eyebrows coming together with concern. "I'm sorry. We have some bad news, I'm afraid. You should both take a seat."

 

Immediately, he stands up and trots to the office door to lock it, passing right under Veronica's chin. When he returns to his desk in the corner, he picks up a handsome blue ballpoint pen, sets it to paper, then fixes Courier Six with an attentive pose.  

 

When the room is still, Six begins to speak. Despite her obvious exhaustion, her voice is calm and clear pulling the room into its own imagination as though it were the five of them sitting at Ruby Nash's kitchen table. Laurie, Paolo, and Paolo's pen are marking her every word with rapt attention and V, who was there, finds herself following along in her mind guided by Six's words. Even Arcade seems engrossed, perched on the edge of a greying loveseat that her power armor would have crushed into matchsticks. It's not a long story; within minutes, they are caught up to the arrival of the New Vegas Team at Nipton's gates. 

 

"What did the radio message say, exactly?" says Paolo, scribbling furiously on his third sheet of paper.

 

Six taps her lip with a finger then shrugs. "I can't recall the exact wording. Raul, our mechanic, is planning on manning the radio tomorrow and getting down the full broadcast. I'm sure he would be happy to give you a copy."

 

"Please do," he says, punctuating his last sentence with a flourish. He turns to Laurie. "Ma'am?"

 

The Seneschal doesn't voice her thoughts right away, something that Veronica admires. She sits quietly behind her metal desk with unfocused eyes pointed at her terminal for several seconds despite her position at the center of focus. At length, she nods minutely and asks, "What do you think it means?"

 

It's a worthy question, carefully phrased and Courier Six gives it the gravity it deserves. "I don't know for certain, of course... but" --she glances over her shoulder at the office door's lock-- "it doesn't feel good. The army is pulling out of small Nevadan towns, reorganizing their forces; the Californians will be taking their economy, industry, _and_ agriculture with them when they go; and the Legion?" Six bites her lip and sneaks a look at Veronica. "Truth be told, I have no idea what the Legion is up to lately. That being said... nothing that happened yesterday actually has anything to do with us. Directly. _Indirectly_ , we might be fucked but as of this moment, neither the NCR nor the Legion seem interested in the Mojave United except as a staging ground for taking potshots at one another. This _could_ be nothing."

 

"Bullshit!" shouts Arcade. Veronica turns to him suddenly and sees how pale his cheeks are and how firmly he has to press his hands together to remain upright. "The Legion is  _infamous_ for pulling the kind of long cons that overthrow even the strongest and most organized governments. For Christ's sake, they only failed to gut the NCR because  _our shitty desert_ was in the way! And the NCR... ugh! They only want the Dam and couldn't care less if the Legion dragged every last one of us away as long as they got it in the end."

 

Veronica opens her mouth, ready to tell him - politely! - to shut his fucking mouth but feels a light hand on her elbow before she can say the first word. "I'm not saying that you're wrong, Arcade," Six interrupts, patting Veronica's armor, "but I _might_ be willing to say that you're only imagining the worst-case scenario. If Oliver is ready to tap into the might of California, I think it's in our best interest to hope that he wins." She grins with dark humor. "We might even get  _really_ lucky and they kill each other off!"

 

Gannon folds his arms and leans back crossly on the creaky couch. "What's  _more_ likely is that they will  _trample_ us running back and for--"

 

"A _hem_!" 

 

The trio turns to Paolo who, hands on his hips, looks ready to sentence them _all_ to death by NCR/Legion fighting if they don't knock it off. Tactfully, Arcade doesn't finish his thought. Paolo nods smartly, adjusts his glasses, and then looks at Laurie, who is gazing at Six with a lost expression. Right away, Six pulls up a rickety folding chair opposite her so they can sit across the desk from one another. 

 

“None of this big picture nonsense is for you to worry about yet," she says. "Just remind your people that you will be able to handle your burdens _t_ _ogether._ That’s all they need. Of  _course_ they’ll be able to handle whatever comes along; nothing has even happened yet! I mean, if any of our people have Californian papers then obviously they have a decision to make but otherwise, your job is to continue as normal with an extra special eye toward the future. Paulo’s been doing that all along, right Paolo?”

 

Secretary Vasquez-Hernandez preens and lays down his pen with a _snap_. “Absolutely! I hope my projections were easy to understand, Courier.”

 

“With a little math-whiz help from Dr. Gannon, they were,” she says without looking away from Laurie. “I appreciated it. That being said,” --Six takes Laurie's beautifully manicured hands in her own dirty mitts and looks into her eyes-- “they should hear this news from you, not me."

 

"Oh, no, Courier!" says Laurie, her voice breaking with emotion. "What could I possibly say? They'll have so many questions!"

 

Courier Six squeezes her fingers. "We... _I_ can deal with their questions, don't even worry, but after tomorrow we'll be gone and then you and Paolo will support them by yourselves, so everyone will _have_ to be on the same page." She takes a new breath, "Tomorrow morning when Raul gets what you need from the radio, you and your people should listen to it without us there. Help them understand what it means, tell your people to be prepared to man the gates more actively, and then if they  _have_ papers and they want to leave... don't stop them. Can you do that?"

 

"Listen to the radio, let travelers through." She is nodding along now, beginning to look less timid. "It doesn't sound too hard, actually."

 

"No, I don't think it will be." Six finally releases her hands then notices Arcade's extreme lean on the loveseat. "Now, I think it's long,  _long_ past our bedtimes. Veronica and Arcade will be happy to bed down on the second floor - yes? - but if it isn't too much trouble I would rather stay in a single-person-room somewhere if you have one? I keep strange working hours, you see."

 

"Already taken care of, Courier!" says Paolo, springing up out of his desk as though it weren't way past midnight or something. "I reserved you a room on the first floor."

 

"Swank!" says Six.

 

Variously, they file out. Veronica has to shake Arcade's shoulder gently to wake him. That outburst seems to have taken it out of him because when roused, he accepts her help to stand from the low sofa and follows her out without another word. They all follow Paolo down the back stairs to a corner room at the back of the Hall with a desk and a chair and suchwhat. It looks comfortable enough, just a little too large for the few sticks of furniture in it. Six's pack, despite the fact that she asked for special accommodation only 5 minutes ago, is already sitting on the bed. No one asks how that was possible.

 

“Hey, what’s this?” asks Six instead, indicating a bright red plastic crate between the staircases. It looks like a plastic barrel laid on its side with metal trunk clasps to open the top like a treasure box. A black, spray paint stencil on the outside reads ‘EMERGENCY’. Veronica tenses. She wasn't prepared to deal with this after the day they've had.

 

“Oh!” says Laurie brightly. “That’s our Crisis Crate, Courier! We put it right here in the most central location but in the back, so it isn't tripped over.”

 

“An emergency kit located right in Town Hall - great idea! What made you think of that?”

 

The Seneschal and her assistant laugh with good humor while Six smiles politely, clearly not understanding. When her question still goes unanswered after the laughter stops, Arcade leans over to Veronica.

 

“I told you she would find it!” he hisses in an agitated whisper. "She has this magical ability to always find the  _one thing_ you don't want her to! She's like an anxiety-sniffing dog, I swear."

 

V resists the urge to bat away his nonsense. "Sssssh!" she says, still listening anxiously to Six.

 

“What kind of things did you put inside it?” the selfsame nosy bitch asks Paolo with interest while standing on tiptoe to examine it from every angle. She sounds impressed and for a moment, Veronica wonders if maybe Arcade isn't overreacting again. It's a good idea, after all, and Six would  _surely_ recognize that... even if she hadn't necessarily been previously informed about their repurposing of community resources to accomplish it. _Fsck._

 

“Oh! We haven’t added anything to it, yet,” says Paulo, a little embarrassed. He scribbles a note on his ever-present clipboard. "It only arrived a few days ago!"

 

Courier Six shakes her head a little helplessly at Paolo and says, “I’m sorry… I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

 

Paulo scratches his neck anxiously. “What I mean to say is… we didn’t realize we were supposed to add to the crate, Courier. We only checked to be sure that it contained everything you promised, like we told your, um, secretary earlier.” His pen points towards Veronica.

 

Oh yeah. Six just tripped right the hell over it.

 

Seconds before her gaze can follow Paolo's pen, Veronica looks away and becomes politely interested in some old vending machines. So far, Six doesn't appear upset but still, the shadow that crosses her friend's face causes Veronica's stomach to do a flip. She wishes Arcade would do  _anything_ other than watch the events unfold, slack-jawed.

 

“Of course,” says Six graciously, turning away from her friends. “I didn’t mean to rush you. I’m just so excited about our… Crisis Crate project that I... just can’t _wait_ to see its impact. You’ll let me know what you decide to add, right? I'd appreciate it.”

 

"Absolutely!" He smiles, caps his pen, and slips it into his shirt pocket. “I think that’s everything here. Inspection begins tomorrow at 6:15 followed by lunch and an informal question and answer session after for about an hour. Does that still agree with you?"

 

It does and after saying goodnight, Laurie and Paulo leave them, shuffling out through the refurbished double doors of Nipton Town Hall. The moment Laurie's purple bathrobe disappears, Veronica and Arcade begin talking over one another.

 

"I'm soooooo sorry!! I meant to tell you sooner--"

 

"--we have leeway to conduct financial and community matters in our--"

 

"--wasn't sure what you'd think--"

 

"-- _hardly_ a matter of opinion--"

 

"Okay, okay."

 

"--didn't have time before everything went sideways--"

 

"--I'm  _still_ convinced there was some faulty data--"

 

"Okay!!" Six waves her hands to get their attention. Arcade Gannon doesn't notice.

 

"--didn't recognize the institution--"

 

Veronica swats him in the arm. "Arcade! Stop!"

 

His head snaps up from whatever rant about grant money he got stuck in and swallows sheepishly. "Oh, sorry. Thinking out loud again, I suppose."

 

"Okay," says Six one more time, smoothing back her dark hair and fixing Veronica with a shrewd look. "I'm hurt and embarrassed by being left out of the loop, that goes without saying and I have several questions that I want to ask but first, please, tell me what this thing is all about," she says, indicating the red plastic crate.

 

Veronica takes a breath and pushes back her green and yellow hood. It's the only thing she can take off without leaving an ugly new statue in Laurie's nice building overnight and the flickering fluorescent light is starting to give her a headache. "So... back in Vegas before any of this baby-making parade started, we... um, Arcade and I... we were talking about the whole purpose of government or whatever."

 

Six nods. "I'm intrigued, please continue."

 

"Well, Arcade said something and it led to this idea--"

 

"What did he say?"

 

Both women look at Arcade, who adjusts his glasses self-consciously. "I think the comment to which Miss Santangelo is referring had something to do with a wartime government only being a reliable source of basic rights and not much else without an army," he says matter-of-factly. "There are many boundaries a government which serves its people should not ethically cross but their nature is such that a survey of the state is going to produce such a variety of opinions as to render the data useless."

 

"What about setting community ideals and policing destructive behaviors?" asks Courier Six.

 

"I think communities can set social standards for themselves more effectively than a centralized urban bureaucracy with little to no experience or education regarding rural, agricultural life."

 

Six leans forward with excitement. "Oh, indeed? What about if--?"

 

" _Anyway_ ," says Veronica, cutting off that philosophical train before it leaves the station. "It eventually led to a discussion about how to get people to trust us as the bureaucrats of the Mojave when most people outside the city couldn't care _less_ who runs it. Most decisions we make about which families on the Strip to trust or how much technology we can incorporate into our business have _nothing_ to do with their lives, so unless we personally befriend every single person in the Mojave Valley to encourage them to care about what we do, our day-to-day decisions will just be incidental out here."

 

Courier Fucking Six looks like the thought of befriending every single person in the Mojave Valley might not be the worst plan she's ever heard of.

 

"In other words," says Arcade, who is not sorry to have moved on, "what benefit could we offer these remote people that would encourage them to join our cause? What's in it for them?"

 

"So we came up with the Crisis Crates. Inside are enough supplies to help each of our settlements last about a month if their town gets radioactive waste dumped on it or burned down or something. They've got iodine, stimpaks, dehydrated food, important tools like hatchets and stuff... and also an evacuation map."

 

Six's smile fades. "An evacuation map?" 

 

Arcade looks at her meaningfully. "Yes. Evacuation."

 

The landing at the foot of the stairs is quiet for a moment. Veronica looks from Arcade to Six, but Six's face is a stone wall. She looks back at Arcade, who is still gazing intently at Six as though he could beam understanding from his mind to hers but Lord knows they'll _die_ of waiting before that works.

 

"We didn't tell you because we didn't want you to feel as though we didn't have faith in your plan," Veronica says heavily, feeling every step she took today. Now she wishes she had gotten out of armor when they had first arrived. "We do, I promise. It's just" --her shoulders slump invisibly under her pauldrons-- "after the letter you showed me, we felt that... a plan for the worst-case scenario was in order."

 

"Evacuation," says Six.

 

"Evacuation," agrees Veronica.

 

Six opens her mouth, possibly to tell them _exactly_ how much she hates the idea of evacuating, but a yawn interrupts her and Veronica bursts into laughter. V can't help it; the shock on her friend's face at her own mouth's rudeness makes her giggle.

 

"Okay, okay," Six says irritably, clamping her lips together to bite off the yawn. "It's... well, I don't know what time it is. Late! Too fucking late to deal with this... situation right now. Let's all get some sleep and then first thing tomorrow morning, I'd like to see the plan you two assholes came up with, ok? Ok. Goodnight."

 

"Sure thing, boss," says Arcade in a very accurate imitation of Raul. He didn't wait to see how his joke landed but proceeded immediately up the stairs to bed.

 

Six turns away to her own room.

 

"Six?"

 

"Yeah, V?"

 

"...I'm sorry."

 

She stops in the dark doorway and looks back. She looks so small; just how old is she? Veronica can feel her jaw working to hold back tears of exhaustion - totally exhaustion, yep! - and feels again like she should be out of her enormous, cumbersome,  _repugnant_ armor. Six crosses the hall and wraps her arms around V's middle, where the power armor articulates around her waist.

 

"With all the things you have done for me... after _all_ the things we have been through together... I would be an unforgivable bitch if I blamed you for doing what you could to help other people just because you didn't tell me about it first."

 

Now Veronica really does cry. She gently holds Six without activating her armor's enhancements and lets the tears drip down her cheeks and onto Six's shining black hair, who doesn't seem to mind. She hugs V until she can hiccup and sniffle her guilt away, then releases her, smiles, and goes to her room. Before she turns to follow Arcade up the stairs, she sees Six's desk light switch on and hears the door close.  _No rest for the wicked I guess_...Tomorrow would be another day.


	11. THE CHAPTER WHEREIN Six is a thief, Vulpes has many thoughts, and Boone would disapprove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frumentarius Inculta and Courier Six negotiate for the future of the Mojave... or maybe Vulpes and Six negotiate for themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Vis Facere - As you will
> 
> Dear readers, 
> 
> As you may know, in real meatspace I actually /live/ in Las Vegas and believe me when I say that everything awful they tell you about living in the desert is absolutely true and worse. It absolutely feels like the sun is roasting the skin off your flesh! We take HUGE precautions against heat stroke and dangerous dehydration (such as drinking pickle juice every possible opportunity. It's nature's Gatorade.) because there's no other way to survive a 120 degree summer without some survival tactics. Long story short, the A/C in the apartment has been broken for two weeks and it's been a... stressful time in my sweltering house, therefore, I apologize for my curt, summer manner and hope this chapter makes up for it in some way.

Courier Six listens to Veronica clomp up the stairs and settle her suit of armor with a creak of floorboards. She holds her breath _just_  long enough to hear the release of pressure valves and light footsteps pad to bed, then crosses to her window and throws open the curtain.

 

Her eyes scan the ridge east of Nipton, the same the direction they will travel day after tomorrow. There are a few farms out there to visit and before they reach the radiation bloom of Searchlight, they'll turn north towards Novac, about a day and a half's walk stretched into two. She squints into the moonlit foothills and wishes she had Boone's amazing night vision. Even with her regular, mundane eyes, though, Six's patience allows her to spot the movement of a faint grey shape. Flat on the ground and lying in a hollow that is untouched by the glassy moonlight, she thinks she can make out something like a head and shoulders lying propped against a squat palm tree. She keeps her eyes glued to that dip in the rocks and feels for the switch of the desk lamp.

 

She flips the switch on and off once and watches for more movement. It's quiet for a moment before she notices something and what she spots isn't the figure under the palm tree but from something much closer. A few hundred feet away, inside the Nipton fence, she catches a faint glimmer like a reflection on an unpolished surface; maybe a sword, maybe a bottle... or maybe the eye of a coyote looking for a midnight snack. Six glances upstairs, willing her team to sleep like the dead logs they sawed in the claustrophobic Ger, then begins to flash her light many times. Laboriously, she spells out--

 

INCULTA MEETING ASAP

 

\--then she waits in the dark. Six’s eyes, so determined not to miss an answer, water almost immediately. It’s unfortunate that her night vision has never been the best but she can hardly dare to blink, not for a second. She is just about to try again when another pale, silvery flash catches her eye... and then several more before a pause. The pattern isn't very long. The pale flashes begin again so she copies down the longs and shorts on a scrap of paper, looks down, and reads:

 

M - O - R - G - U - E

 

Immediately, she pulls on her leather coat, hides her pale skin in gloves, a ragged scarf, and the red felt cap. Suitably armored, she peeks out of her room and takes a left out the back doors of the Hall. Before the handles slip from her grasp, she finds a little pebble to wedge in one and tiptoes away, hidden in the night.

 

It’s quiet out in a desert-night sort of way... which is to say, not very quiet at all. Stiff scrub brush rustles overtop swirling sand and the crickoppers are whistling a slow song tonight. It feels cooler than normal, perhaps the Autumn Portion of Summer is nearly at an end. Anyway, it’s plenty enough cover for Six’s feet to skip along through the dark to an old dwelling in the quietest corner of Nipton; the morgue.

 

The morgue is a small, dark building; never locked. A crunchy stone path leads up to a plain door with a red plastic sign reading “Welcome”. On the north side of the building, there is a huge herb garden ringed with large stones. Wild onions are topped by their soft lavender blooms; tonight, the air smells spicy for it. Oh, wait, no. That acidic burning is some jalapenos pecked open by impudent crows. They caw and ruffle their feathers as she passes.

 

It used to be the main building of a pre-War hotel, the kind of place families used to stay together on long trips. It would have had a tacky neon sign, maybe a gaudy tropical theme, and been just convenient and comfortable enough to stay _almost_ in business. Plaster dreams rotted by their own inadequate construction. True, the bungalows of the Nipton Motel had been stripped for building materials ages ago but the former administration building had always felt untouchable. Long ago, Six had used it to store the bodies of the NCR soldiers, murdered travelers, and tortured Powder Gangers before burial. In the charter for the town, Six had directed these flowering herbs be planted over their grave and gradually, its history became the foundation for its new purpose.

 

Automatically, she flips the light switch when she enters and curses at her own carelessness but, thankfully, this building hasn’t had electricity in decades. The lights remain off. Six pointlessly unflips the switch and looks around. The walls are an unobjectionable shade of beige accented by faded pink. A few intact wooden chairs dot the walls and an unassuming floral rug takes up most of the floor before the main desk. The front counter is remarkably intact and, when well-scrubbed, serves as the coroner’s slab for autopsies and embalming. Behind, a repurposed key cabinet holds their papers, tools, and mysterious bottles of liquid but it is only reachable through a closed door labeled “Employees Only” and Six is too nervous to see whether it, too, is unlocked and furthermore she’s not about to crawl over the counter.

 

Yes, the morgue is trying desperately to be comfortable but the air tastes stale with the antiseptic tang of a clinic. In her mind, Six sees stacks of bodies and remembers how slippery they felt when her clumsy hands, covered with blood, were trying to arrange them there with some dignity before burial. Before her nose can treat her to the hot smell of dying men, she opens her eyes and focuses on what’s happening in the present.

 

Tonight, a closed wooden coffin lies in the middle of the floor, stark in its rough newness. She kneels beside the coffin and opens the lid. Inside is a pale young woman in her Sunday best, a soft cotton dress tied simply with a braided belt. Her hair has been brushed and dressed and it looks like a little rouge was dusted on her cheeks. Tucked under her elegantly folded hands is a beaten notebook labeled JOURNAL. She didn’t know this girl but Six can guess that she will have to talk to her parents tomorrow and offer them her condolences.

 

“Oh, my dear,” she murmurs, pressing her fingers to the girl’s cold hand. “They made you look just lovely. You could almost be sleeping.”

 

“We could all hope for such a swift death,” whispers a dry voice. “That brahmin kick crushed her ribs immediately. As you can see, they did a marvelous job reconstructing it; her body, I mean.”

 

Six freezes, still kneeling beside the coffin. She is acutely aware that her back remains facing him but the greater danger must be prevented; he can’t see how wrong-footed she is. He _mustn’t_. The Courier takes a deep breath and releases the knot of fear in her stomach.

 

“You came,” she says with genuine warmth. “I’m glad that you could on such short notice. I mean - I knew, of course, that you were having me followed but I didn’t realize you would be doing it _personally._ ” She squeezes the girl’s hand once more and closes her wooden bed before facing her guest.

 

Vulpes Inculta, it seems, wasted no time in answering her message. Gone are the classy suit and hat of Mr. Fox, replaced at this late hour by a brown leather segmentata and rough spun wool tunica dyed red to complement. He left his favorite taxidermy headgear at home, thank Jesus, though his sharp eyebrows look down on her severely enough on their own. Everything about his face is sharp, eyes, nose, mouth. A faint stain of grit colors the sleeve of his tunica but otherwise his model appearance could be airbrushed on the back of Caesar’s chariot.

 

He faces her with his hands clasped behind his back. "It is a regular habit of mine to maintain intelligence regarding Caesar’s most dangerous adversaries.”

 

“Goodness, is _that_ what I am?” says Courier Six, raising her eyebrows. “I do hope it’s not too inconvenient for you to cross enemy lines?”

 

“Of course not,” he says through barely parted lips.

 

Six waits to see if he has more. He does not. “I suppose it’s only been a day since we last met..." she says, "A day and a night.”

 

“Your timekeeping skills continue to impress," he says. "Next, you’ll tell me all about how you tie your shoes every day.”

 

She rolls her eyes. “Okay, okay, Inculta. We don’t have to do small talk this time.”

 

“I’m not the one who called a covert meeting with my enemy alone and unarmed in the middle of the night without informing my team.” His red-clay eyes glitter. “I assumed you would be in a hurry.”

 

“You assumed correctly!”

 

“Then,” he gestures with an open hand, “the floor is yours.”

 

“Thank you,” she says, brushing her hands together and standing. She shakes the hair from her eyes and begins promptly. “I expect that you will have heard about the Californian evacuation by now and I’ll also go ahead and assume that you are about to or have already investigated the cause of it?”

 

His head tilts to one side and becomes suddenly still. There is no answer from him except the reflection of moonlight on plastic, padded pauldrons. She assumes this means she has his attention, glances at the machete handle looped onto his belt, and continues.

 

“Let’s not pretend that this news is anything other a hugely devastating blow to the people of New Vegas and accept the reality that I am negotiating on _their_ behalf from such an unstable position as a given--”

 

“I am _astounded_ to learn how it could be any other way.”

 

“--by allowing me to ask you for a favor,” she finishes.

 

“A favor?” Vulpes repeats. “How precious is this favor of yours, Courier?” Six detects a lift in his voice and smiles.

 

“I think that depends on how precious the information is to _you_ , Mr. Fox,” she says. Then, she pauses to catch her thoughts. Now that the first hurdle is clear, she just has to follow up in the right way. Six stows the red felt hat in her pocket and loosens her salt-stiff curls with a few, teasing shakes, thinking just as fast as the gears in her mind can whizz. When Six next opens her eyes, she raises her chin to look directly into Vulpes’ stoic face.

 

“I am asking you for the favor of information on behalf of a nation with whom your Caesar shares a common goal,” she says, reasonably. “He and I both want the NCR to leave Nevada off their maps. So, too, we need them to relinquish control of the Colorado, Helios One, and Hoover Dam. Any information you bring us would only increase the Mojave's efficiency towards convincing the Californian army to leave. After that, the Legion would only be fighting a single-front war against New Vegas. The expediency of bringing the siege to an end should be enough motivation for you to tip a hint to an ally. ‘The enemy of my enemy...,’ if you will.”

 

Vulpes’ nostrils flare. “That offer is nothing,” he says. “If that’s all you brought to the table, then we have nothing more to discuss...” His shoulders turn toward the door.

 

“Oh, quit being so dramatic!” huffs Six. She almost hops as though to spring between him and his exit but catches herself. Over crossed arms, she frowns and strides around the casket with indignantly precise steps. “It was only my first suggestion - _tuh!_ ”

 

“Should I be surprised to hear it?” he says. His voice isn't cold anymore.

 

“No, you shouldn’t, you jackass.” Courier Six uncrosses her arms and looks at him over her shoulder. There he stands, lit well by the full moon pouring in through the window, as though this kind of situation were perfectly ordinary in every way. The knot in her stomach has returned but it doesn't sit heavy like fear did. “Look, obviously there is a bit of a disparity in the Diplomacy Experience, here. There’s no need to be a hawk about it; I can _only_ do my best.”

 

Vulpes raises an eyebrow and for just a blink, Six spots a sparkle of brown in his red-clay eyes. She has seen this deceptive earthy color only one place before: the jagged, glittering foothills outside Zion. _Does he know how unusual the color of his eyes is? ...Is he using it to unsettle me?_

 

_Is it working?_

 

“This is your best, my dear?” he drawls. “Is this where I give you a gold star and tell you how well you’re doing?”

 

“Ha. No.”

 

She reaches into her breast pocket and unzips it. She knows where the coin necklace is but her trembling fingers fumble the leather thong. Her heart pounds through every inch of her skin - surely loudly enough to be heard! - that when she finally catches the necklace, it snags on the other, more fragile, contents of her pocket and she has to unbutton her coat, get her other hand in at the right angle, _and_ get the necklace out at the same time or else they will tumble right out. It’s… an awkward looking save.

 

“Please, take your time," he says, thinly. "I'll be here whenever you are ready.”

 

Her cheeks burn hot. “Just a moment, please,” she says, dropping her gaze to his hobnail boots. “I feel like I’ve had a long day every day for the last year.” She presses her hand to her heart and begs it to be calm. _Just for a moment, please..._

 

“... _V_ _is facere_.”

 

The intensity of his dry whisper surprises her enough to look up and see that his entire posture has changed. Instead of continuing to stand imposingly far away for their quiet conversation, he has stepped closer to her and also removed the plastic shoulder pads from his armor. Six stares at the strength of his arm, tough and lean, and finds herself impressed. In her mind, she remembered Vulpes as a wiry, skinny man - a skeleton coat hanger under a stretched skin - but it seems that this old image of him, like so many others lately, is an illusion. He stands only a head taller than her and since his torso is _quite_ V shaped, she could slide right into the crook of his arm and be the perfect height to…

 

“How about instead of a favor, I offer you a trade,” she says quickly, holding up the newly-freed Mark of Caesar in her hand.

 

“What is the nature of the trade?” His voice doesn’t sound dry up close. Its low murmur could be a husky song; a quiet, smooth resonance marked by subtle rises and falls. A very natural vehicle for his particular brand of biting sarcasm. Six only realizes at that moment just how precisely he uses his voice. 

 

Hers is almost a gasp. “The favor of Caesar for the meaning behind the Californian evacuation?”

 

Vulpes shakes his head _._ “The purpose of that particular favor is to compel Caesar to treat you as an honored guest in his presence. I am not Caesar, therefore I do not feel so compelled. It is quite a valuable token in many other respects for you and others like you.”

 

"But not for you?"

 

"No." 

 

As a woman, it would not be guaranteed that she would be treated with respect, less so as a symbol of New Vegas' hedonism. Very little would bother them about luring her to Fortification Hill under false pretenses only to kill, rape, or enslave her instead. It makes fruitful diplomacy very risky, to put it mildly. This interesting power makes the Mark of Caesar quite valuable indeed though - as Vulpes said - only to her. As a Legionary and a man, Caesar would need no other motivation to behave himself. Six slips the necklace back in her pocket and really _thinks._ What would a man like Vulpes find useful? What does she have to give that he would find appealing? She turns the coin over in her palm and reads LEGO CAESAR.

 

“I can offer you Immunity.”

 

Vulpes dark eyes snap back to hers. “That is a… _generous_ offer, Courier, but what makes you think that I would ever require such a thing?”

 

“Because, I don’t know, I’ve met you?" she says, bluntly. Six rubs her eyes; it's got to be near dawn. "You’re the kind of man who can’t sleep at night unless he’s blackmailed half a dozen city officials and passed off smoking guns to a dozen more. I can’t imagine a single scenario where you don’t have a contingency for the assassination of every person in the Legion bureaucracy _and_ a plan for how to make a quick exit.”

 

“I choose to be flattered.”

 

“Maybe you should be, maybe you shouldn’t be” --she shrugs-- “I don’t know. However, in the scenario where you need it, I am offering you Immunity from all crimes against New Vegas and a job working on my team. Your record, in many ways, speaks for you.”

 

He taps a hobnailed toe on the wooden floor. “Is this a favor or an interview?”

 

“ _Por que no los dos_?” she jokes with an accent that would make Raul pretend to die. “Look, I can’t do the whole 'unlimited servants and huge mansions and reliable salary' thing that the Legion can but if you came to work with my team, Vulpes… we could do incredible things. I’m an amateur politico at best, a lucky dabbler, but you understand the exchange of power and favors like it’s your first language. You think of plans I never, ever could  _and_ you know exactly what's necessary to achieve them. I’d still be here to be the face and get in between you and the people you’re working with from time to time but in terms of foreign intelligence? You'd be the head of that department, no question.”

 

“Ludicrous,” he sneers. “Why would I need a face? I am quite capable of leading, as you have seen.”

 

Six fails not to laugh. “Capable, maybe, but you’d hate it! Nothing a leader does is private! _Nothing._ Frumentarius Inculta is a powerful, mysterious man who gets to cut deals and slink around in the shadows pulling the wool over everyone’s eyes but Caesar Vulpes would be surrounded by politicians he can’t stab and servants he can’t hide from all the while giving endless inspirational speeches and waving in crowded parades.”

 

Vulpes is still for several seconds. At length, he says, “Fair points.”

 

“Information in exchange for Immunity? You know, just in case you need an out.”

 

“I shall consider it.”

 

“Thank you," she says, looking at the coin once more before putting it away. “I wish I had something to give you…” She rummages in her other coat pockets for a moment but only finds a stubby pencil and the red felt hat. She notices the gold pin on the hat's brim and realizes... _this is Boone’s hat! He never asked for it back… how long have I had this thing??_ He would be furious if he knew where she was right now. Six stuffs it back where it came from and thinks with her thick, tired mind that a physical symbol of their agreement might be too much to ask for Probably-Four-In-The-Morning when she looks down at her empty hands and has a flash of inspiration. 

 

Courier Six takes off one her leather gloves and holds it out to Vulpes. "Here, this will do. I've got the matching glove, so whenever I see _this_ one, I'll know you're cashing in your favor."

 

"Indeed," he says, taking it by the fingertips and examining it carefully before stowing it in one of the pouches on his belt. Vulpes rolls his shoulders with a crack and looks at her down his long nose. “That deal helps you in the long term, Courier, but it does not leave you with much tonight. Did you have something more to discuss?”

 

"How about a less expensive trade for tonight, then? A question for a question. I’ll even let you go first.”

 

“'Let me go first'... Do you realize what you are asking? For me to agree to aid an _ally_  of Caesar thusly would be blasphemous, much less an enemy.” He imitates a concerned face. “Is there no such thing as Treason in the Mojave United?”

 

“Is our conversation going to comprise solely of obvious questions?” Six complains. "First of all, this exchange is off the books. Can't believe I have to say it out loud. Secondly, we both know the score and, frankly, we have about the same amount to lose. My offer stands as is."

 

He exhales sharply through his nose in a way that might be his version of a laugh. “Very well. What is the plan for your people surviving the potential evacuation of Nevada?”

 

Six puffs a stray lock of hair out of her face. “Yikes. Right for the throat on the first go-round! You’re not going to believe me but I don’t actually know what any evacuation plan is yet other than I know that one exists. While I am _definitely_ making up most of this governing thing, I can tell you for sure that preserving the lives of my people is more important to me than holding an indefinite, devastating siege inside the walls.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“ _Oh._ The disease and starvation kill more people than outright battle. I know that wasn’t much of an answer, so you can ask a follow up if you want to,” she says in a lower voice, cupping her hand around her mouth.

 

He notes her grin. “What is _your_ plan for surviving the evacuation?”

 

Six pauses. “If it comes down to the end and we decide to evacuate the Movajians from Nevada... I will not be joining them. My people will, I think, be safer traveling with their friends and loved ones instead of following an extremely executable criminal.” Though she has never been asked this exact question before, she knows right away what the answer has to be and it scares her how clearly and quickly the picture formed in her mind. Inculta, for once, doesn't seem to notice her unusual boldness.

 

“Would your, ah, _friends_ be joining you?”

 

"My team?" She laughs. “I wouldn’t _want_ them to join me in exile but I don't think I could stop those stubborn assholes for all the silk in Sotonoya so, yeah, probably. Any other follow-ups? Do you want to know if I’ll lock the door behind me, too?”

 

He tilts his head to look down at her with as much disdain as he can muster. “No, thank you. I concede the floor.”

 

“Thank you, Vulpes,” she says, smiling up through her lashes at his name. When he takes a breath so deep his armor creaks, she plays her next card. “I have heard a rumor that soon there may be a new Caesar and that Legate Lanius might be his heir. If it’s true... is he the best man for the job?”

 

Frumentarius Inculta makes a curious expression. “The Legate is a perfect specimen of the Legion’s ideals; a consummate warrior, loyal subordinate, and honorable commander. He is well-blessed by Mars,” he answers and though the words are perfect, his jaw is tight.

 

“Really?” she presses, quirking an eyebrow. “That brute of a man? Seven At One Blow, the Giant Man with a Giant Chopper, who smears a messy, bloody path across the country like a red carpet before Caesar?? I am surprised to find you toeing the party line, Frumentarius! Since when do you find prowess in mowing down malnourished, uneducated scavengers?”

 

Inculta jerks a dismissive hand towards her then turns stiffly to walk around the closed coffin between them. “You speak with the bitterness of a conquered people. If you envy his prowess, then perhaps you should strive harder to match hi--”

 

“Don’t be obtuse, Inculta,” she says, crossing her arms again and shifting her weight from one hip to the other. As he grows closer with each silent step, she has to look higher and higher to continue meeting his hard sandstone eyes. “Let’s not pretend that you don’t understand the question I’m asking. Legate Lanius is _undoubtedly_ a military genius but will Caesar Lanius be a formidable diplomat? Is he _capable_ of leading a huge and complicated machine like the Legion or will he push the Imperial envelope so far he runs the behemoth off the cliff like the ancient Caesars before him?”

 

Vulpes freezes in place so suddenly the falls of his red leather skirt clack together. Only arm's length away, he stares down at her with narrow, piercing eyes. “Lanius is… ruthless and efficient, a scourge to all his enemies," he rasps. "The Legate knows how to use fear to intimidate ally and enemy alike. On the field, he is deeply intelligent, viciously creative, and commands great respect from every one of his troops and yet leading a legendary nation as the Son of Mars has done requires much more than that--"

 

"And yet?"

 

"--And yet, he thinks what I do is... Distasteful.”

 

“Ah, so, you’re worried about your job security.”

 

“Hardly!” he sneers, spinning on his heel to glower darkly at the Employee's Only door. “He fails to appreciate that long before his soldiers come in and ‘convert’ the heathen dissenters, I do all of the hard, thankless work of preparing a people to assimilate into the Legion. By the time Lanius marches out of bed to begin the campaign, I have lied, cheated, and stolen the land from under him! My work is _essential_ to the Legion.”

 

Six feels genuinely taken aback. Momentarily, the weight of sleep lifts from her shoulders. “Vulpes… that was a real answer.”

 

He sniffs, still looking away. “This is one of those rare times when speaking the truth is more efficient than telling you a beautifully crafted lie.”

 

“I’m not mad," she promises, noticing his shoulders relax. "So, you think he will be strong enough to hold the empire together but at the same time you worry that he will overlook the less savory half of the equation?”

 

“That is perhaps an incomplete summation, however, yes.” He glances sidelong at her. “In the service of addressing the _spirit_ of your question, I will also mention that Lanius isn’t an… unlettered man. He does not often voice his inner thoughts or explain his true motivations to his men, yet he commands their loyalty quickly enough. There may be more to him than meets the eye.”

 

“I appreciate your candor. I have no further questions, your honor.” Six laughs breathily but then sways _dangerously_  in place and has to plant one boot to catch herself or fail to remain upright. Her ankle bangs the coffin just hard enough to jolt her awake and she staggers up to see that Vulpes’ eyes are glued on her once more. Is he closer than a moment ago? “Excuse me,” she says, “I just... lost my balance. I'm fine. It’s your turn again.”

 

If he disbelieves her, it doesn't show. He stands tall once more and straightens his shoulders. “Those Mojave fathers of yours… have any of them succeeded at their job yet?”

 

Six laughs again but remains conscious of accidentally deoxygenating herself this time. She throws up her hands and shrugs. “Believe it or not, it’s only been about a week and a half, maybe two, since we left New Vegas. That’s not a lot of time to get knocked up let alone get a hint about it.”

 

“Nevertheless.”

 

"Still going with that question?" She shakes her head. “No. No, I'm not pregnant yet.”

 

“Then a followup; are you still planning to see it through should a man prove successful?"

 

“That’s… another good one I may not know the answer to yet." Courier Six shrugs. "It hadn’t crossed my mind to stop trying to have a baby. Even if it doesn't bring the whole world together over their holy crib or whatever... On the other hand, maybe right now isn’t the time I want to be hauling a newborn around the desert, no matter what I want. I could try to keep you informed of any new… _developments_.” She giggles thinly at her own terrible joke. _Is this a normal amount of laughter?_ It's starting to seem like a lot.

 

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” he answers without feeling the words. For the first time, his attention truly seems to wander away from her; the only hint to his thoughts she can see is the thumb of one hand tracing a circle on the back of the other. "What do you mean when you say 'or whatever'?"

 

Six frowns. "Or whatever?" she repeats, blinking slowly. "What was I just saying about whatever?"

 

"Consider the question retracted," he says with a little head shake. When he clasps his hands behind his back like that, it makes his chest look so _broad_...

 

“You know…” Six says slowly, unbuttoning her jacket and slipping a hand into her jeans pocket. She knows the thin flannel shirt lays well around her bosom and she thinks he should know it, too. “You could always take a chance.”

 

His focus, which had taken such a nice 5-minute vacation, suddenly returns. “I don’t take chances,” he says flatly.

 

“Are you sure? It’s not one of my official Questions so you can just think about it,” she says. Luxuriously, she stretches her arms above her head just enough to let a shirt button casually pop open. Vulpes’ eyes lock onto it and stay locked when she relaxes and the intimate curve of her skin can be seen through the gap. “You have all these plans lined up. Plan upon plan upon _plan_ … Here’s one where the outcome is still up to fate! You could get lucky… or not... who knows?”

 

Six leans her head back and gives him a long view of her naked, shivering throat. She knows that she is a little pale from exhaustion and her veins look like intricate blue ribbons twisting just under her caramel brown skin. Slowly, she swallows and Vulpes shifts ever so slightly to align his shoulders directly with hers. Six called him a hawk earlier and now more than ever he looks the part. She feels like a trembling rabbit who finds herself only a few precious hops ahead of his razor-sharp talons but she must refuse to bolt even as her dire predator circles closer.

 

He brings himself around the coffin close enough that were she to lean forward, her forehead would bump into his pointed chin.

 

“It is time to ask your last question,” he breathes so quietly that she almost can’t hear him over the rushing pulse in her throat. The singsong of his words is so teasing this close to her ears.

 

Six swallows. “Like yours, mine is a multi-part question.”

 

His lips barely twitch before he whispers, “I’ll allow it.”

 

“Before, you said that it would be blasphemous for you to help anyone who wasn’t an ally of Caesar. Is the Mojave United one of Caesar’s allies?”

 

Vulpes Inculta shakes his head side to side. His unbroken eye contact reminds her of a rattlesnake swaying to thrall its prey with his deadly instrument. “No.”

 

“A followup, then… am I, Courier Six, one of Caesar’s allies?”

 

He seems to consider it and decides, “No.”

 

 _Ba-bump…_ “Are your allies necessarily the same as Caesar’s allies?”

 

“...No.”

 

She lifts her face right up to his, though she has to stand on tiptoe to do it. Lightly, she rests her fingertips on his forearms to steady herself and his skin is so warm.  _Ba-bump..._  His eyes flick down to her softly parted lips and apparently, even his legendary self-control can’t mask they way he stares with naked hunger into her wide brown eyes.

 

“Are _you_ my ally?”

 

His breath snaps the air. Six sees his lips move but no sound seems to come out. How strange. Gazing up into his eyes, he seems to grow taller and taller and then his arms comedically stretch like noodles, waving towards her. Her laugh sounds weird... as though muffled... by fresh dirt...

 

Her fingernails are clotted with rotting splinters. _I have to shake them out!_

 

Why are her hands tangled? What is that?

 

Six feels a breeze on her face and hears the click of a door sliding closed. A moment later, something warm and heavy is thrown over her, alarming enough that she can stir herself awake.

 

It's a blanket.

 

It's her room.

 

Her eyes are open and she is in her room in Nipton Hall. She shudders and clutches the blanket. 

 

_oh thank jesus._

 

Six sits up and presses her unburied, unsplintered hands against her closed eyes. Sweat is dripping from her face, making her hair and flannel shirt both damp and clammy. Where is some water? She can still see the red sandstone of Vulpes' eyes though their gleam fades when she looks up and he is nowhere to be seen. That was definitely his face swimming above hers a minute ago and she had definitely been talking to him in the morgue before that... so what happened?

 

She pulls the blanket off and finds herself laying, fully clothed, on top of her bed. The soreness of her eyes is a pretty good hint that the extended workday had caused her to lose consciousness, there, for a minute but it doesn't explain how she got back here. Six frowns. Is it wrong for her to hope that Vulpes and not one of her friends was responsible for stowing her safely in her room? Vulpes might be a manipulative bastard but he doesn't judge her methods for success while her friends... sometimes her friends need convincing.

 

She sees a pitcher of drinking water on the desk and decides to fetch it when she realizes she is holding something. In her hand is a small envelope sealed with a blob of red wax. This is becoming too frequent for comfort. It looks pristinely folded and bears the precise lettering she's all too familiar with. She opens it with a thrill of dread clenching in her stomach.

 

Inside there is a lock of tightly curled black hair... and a note signed with a bloody thumbprint.

 

_It will please you to know that Karl has been permanently replaced. I didn't like how he spoke to you._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Please be advised that while I am not a scholar of Latin, by this point I have studied different languages long enough to understand that translating the meaning of a significant phrase is a BITCH of a time. The translator has to decide how much cross-cultural flavor can be added to a passage because it's heartbreaking to lose the metaphor or extended allegory because the words don't fit together the same way in the target language. At the same time, the actual literal meaning of the words is often more integral fo the structure of the epic poem or ancient ballad so there's only so much tinkering a linguist can do before THAT meaning is lost… It's a balancing act.
> 
> To make a long story short, as closely as my crappy Latin can translate, the literal meaning of the words 'Vis Facere' here is 'Do what you want to do'. It seems clunky because it's the most basic meaning of “As you will” that I could use to get across that language barrier but obviously it doesn’t carry any of the English connotations of the same phrase so if I put that in literally as the translation, some of the emotion it carried would be lost. So, now in the target language (my own), I modified the above translation to match the /feeling/ of the words instead of the literal meaning like my academic ancestors before me. I'm not sure whether to feel bothered by my cultural wiggles or overwhelmed that I spent SO LONG thinking about five words total.


	12. THE CHAPTER WHEREIN Raul is a Relationship Counselor, Arcade has some Uncomfortable Truths, and Everybody decides to be a Goddamn Adult for a minute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some personal drama stirs the lives of the team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Remember how I speak Latin American Spanish about as well as a third grader? I apologize so profusely. If there is a Spanish speaker out there to whom I am doing a gross disservice, I humbly beg that person to bestow their advice on me. I and my pitiful Spanish grammar are at your mercy.

Oh, he managed to get the radio working all right; it’s just that once it was on, there wasn’t anything to hear. Tejada agreed to carry it back to Novac when their day of repairs had yielded no fruit but the radio had obviously not agreed. From the moment he slung on its bag, that heavy piece of shit clanged and banged against his aching hip, rewarding his methodical attention with twenty flavors of white noise, a black and blue side, _y cero transmisiones viables. ¡Inútil!_

 

True to the Courier’s Pip-boy, it took them right about two days to reach the boom-town and they arrived nearly on schedule. Tejada had to admit, he and the team _might_ have been expecting some brand new crisis to break and divert them off-course - or worse make Six pick up the pace - but no! Lady Luck smiled on him. After a relaxed breakfast in the Dino Dee-Lite, Raul’s only job all day had been to sit in the Followers Clinic tent listening to the ungrateful radio and let his old bones rest. _Finalmente._ He sipped a glass of sweet tea and looked for the thoughtful young lady who had taken it upon herself to keep it full in addition to her rounds. He’d made certain to tip his hat to her _several_ more times and was currently awaiting her answer regarding a sunset tour. In fact, there she went right now; hands full of papers, pencils, and sanitizing solution.

 

“ _Mamí,_ don’t you ever take a break? Your feet will look like mine soon if you don’t sit down!”

 

“Easy, there, spring chicken!” She shakes a powder blue dreadlock out of her face and smiles at his mischief. “You know there’s a lot left to do before _I_ get to bed tonight so you are just gonna have to wait.” Her flash of wit curls in his… chest.

 

“I’ll be right here, _hermosa,_ ” he says. “You just let me know when you’re ready for me.” She winks and pulls the curtain around her next patient. Raul unashamedly snags a gander at her backside and settles back in. She and her delicious smile are worth waiting for.

 

He switches the radio to another frequency, readjusts the cracked headphones, and decides to close his eyes until the head doctor orders the west-facing tent wall to be raised. Then, he’ll take a nice last soak in the warm sun before night gets to his joints and hand off his comms duties to Cass to take his lady on a moonlit stroll.

 

Raul’s mouth sets into a frown at the thought of Cassidy. He worries about that girl; her and Six both, actually. It’s true that they could just be tired and overworked. _¡Todos estamos cansados!_ All the hard travel, long hours, and existence-threatening drama has surely sapped their energy, which is a reasonable explanation for Cass’s 12-hour absence. She slid from the finish line to dreamland last night and hadn’t been spotted since. Perhaps if it were only that, he would be content to think himself a worrying henpeck.

 

It wasn’t, though. Now, _Caballero Tejada_ is not the kind of foolish man to comment openly upon a lady’s appearance - _especialmente no a su cara si no es un complido!_ \- but the fact of the matter is that Cass has been looking out of sorts for several days now. Her shining pink face has lately lost its roses and the rest of her dropped about ten pounds to boot. Night before last, she sat staring at the fire drinking her whiskey and Raul didn’t hear her say a single word for 4 hours. Not even when Boone called caravanners “road-blocking disease mongers”!

 

No one would say that it’s been a _smooth_ trip and it is obvious that every member of the team is tired of arguing about campfire duty and how long each break should be. Still, this campaign isn’t much harder work than they’ve all done before, so why is this spicy, dynamic girl wasting away before his very eyes?

 

Perhaps Cass would be willing to share her burdens later after a whiskey or five - they should make just such a plan.

 

At the sound of a curtain, Raul’s eyes pop open hoping to see his favorite nurse. It was not her curtain, however, but Dr. Gannon’s. He has also been here all day using his medical talents to advise and treat the steel workers and their families.

 

He strolls up to his teammate. “How are you hanging in there?”

 

“You fool!” says Raul, gesturing at the closed curtain opposite them. “I am trying to make love to a beautiful woman and you? You are in the way.”

 

Arcade makes a wry face and folds his arms. “You could be here to see me! Am I not enough for you?”

 

“No, no, _senor,_ ” he says, affecting distress, “Do not mistake my words! It is not your beauty that overwhelms me… instead, it is your glasses.”

 

“My glasses?”

 

Raul takes Arcade’s shoulders in both hands and holds him at arm’s length, which makes Arcades crossed arms come back apart. “ _Oh_ _si, es la tragedia mejor!”_ he laments. “Still, it is not your fault. Every time I gaze deep into your ocean-blues I see my own reflection and then I am so _disgustado por el perro viejo_ I see... I cannot think of anything else!”

 

They laugh. “It’s been a hell of a day already,” says Arcade, gesturing at the clinic.

 

“Eh, it’s not so bad right now, boss,” he shrugs, then gives Arcade a serious look. “Hey, have you practiced your shooting today?”

 

“Raul, I’ve been busy--”

 

“You’re always busy, though, running here and there and back and forth! Did you make time to practice or no?”

 

Arcade sighs and resettles his glasses. “Yes. I went out early this morning and practiced some shooting out in the Brahmin range.”

 

“Good!” Raul says, thumping the doctor on the back and making his glasses slide down his nose again. “The more you practice, the closer your bullets miss.”

 

“Uh-huh… Listen, I had a question about the trick where--”

 

“Dr. Gannon, Dr. Gannon,” shouts Jerry. He runs through the open flap with a clipboard and a bottle of pills. “I have something for you!”

 

“Oh, oh thank you, Jerry,” he says, taking the pills first and reading the label. “Who are they for?”

 

“Oh, ha ha! They’re for me,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I’m supposed to ask you how to use them and bring the answer back to Dr. Lozano.”

 

“Seeing if you like pharmaceuticals, huh? Well, it is a necessary part of the treatment process--” and then Arcade starts to talk him through the creation of the pills and what they’re for and so on and so on...

 

Tejada takes a step back and lets his attention relax. Medicine is of no interest to an unkillable old fuck like him but all the same, he knows it’s a necessary career choice, and he is actually very pleased the skinny young man took a quick liking to it. The kid’s been looking for a place to fit in since leaving that barren gulch of the Khan’s and the Followers have proven themselves both honorable and committed to their humanitarianism. _No todas las personas cumplen sus promesas._

 

Jerry clearly takes Arcade’s words seriously. Arcade is still talking about this boring bottle of pills that lost Raul ages ago but Jerry is hanging on his every word. His eyes hardly blink all throughout Gannon’s explanation and then he has several pointed, observant questions that _extend_ the explanation that never ends. Jerry must _really_ love medicine.

 

Lily would be happy about that, he thinks. Lily had a good relationship with a doctor before they met and she still speaks well of him so she would be probably be quite proud if Jerry decided to be a doctor. In fact, now that he thinks of it, Jerry has only left Lily’s side to stand next to Arcade’s!

 

Arcade’s side…

 

Raul looks at Jerry, clutching the clipboard to his chest and gazing adoringly at Arcade.

 

Raul looks at Arcade, still speaking dynamically but focused exclusively on the pill bottle, oblivious to the unusually rapt attention of his audience.

 

_Dios mio._

 

“Hey, Jerry,” croaks Raul, cutting through the chemistry lesson, “Could you do me a favor, son? Could you man the radio for a minute, just until Cass gets here? My leg is feelin’ a little stiff and I’d like to stretch it out before the cold gets to it. You’re okay with that? Thanks, _amigo._ ”

 

He passes off the headphones to the teenager and shakes Arcade’s hand for the evening. He manages to walk calmly until the moment he can’t be seen outside the tent, then hobbles with purpose towards the Repconn Foundry. Six and Veronica will be returning with the workers any minute now and Raul plans on catching them before his suspicion can prove itself correct.

 

xXx

 

Early that morning, Six and Veronica had gone with the morning shift to tour the finally, fully-operational Repconn Foundry. It looked promising when the project first began but Raul had told her that there would probably be at least entire year’s work before the factory turned a profit for the town and up until last month, the repurposed facility had only been able to melt pre-war cars down into I-beams. With this last round of upgrades, though, the Foundry would be able to make and reuse molds for household goods like kitchen utensils, tables, chairs, and essential tool parts. Already, several casinos had put in orders for custom furniture and decorations hence the influx of young households to Novac and the transformation of other local institutions such as the Junkyard Hostel. The town had exploded nearly overnight.

 

Courier Six had sat with the heads of households for a long conference in the lobby of the motel earlier that afternoon, which was then spontaneously followed by a grueling question and answer session wherein Six spoke honestly about the situation between New Vegas and the NCR. To no one’s surprise, her nonspecific words didn’t entirely assuage the fears of Novac’s many young residents. Many of them wanted to meet privately with her at the main office of the motel, so Six obliged.

 

Veronica finally dragged two moth-eaten chairs into the lobby when half the town turned up to speak with Six about all of their _other_ concerns. V took pity on Six when the line of petitioners wrapped around the building and -- after being told quite plainly by the citizens in line that her services were _not_ going to meet their needs adequately -- she announced that everyone would need to start taking numbers to meet with the Courier tomorrow and shooed the rest away.

 

Still, the dino clock on the wall showed 10:15 when the last person in line shook her hand to leave. When the door closed, Six heaved a great sigh and laid down her pen. That was _awful._  Her desk was still covered in binders and envelopes and packages each requiring her _urgent_ attention and tomorrow she would need to see the rest of her needy citizens but there were really only two options: stay up late again to do the work _now,_ or save it for the day of hell tomorrow and do it over breakfast.

 

Neither option seemed appealing.

 

With resignation, she picked up her pen to see about getting at least _half_ done tonight when the door suddenly opened and she glanced up with a thrill of hope that her savior might be nigh.

 

“Hey, Six!” It was Veronica! That’s close enough, Six thought, standing to give her friend a hug.

 

“Good evening,” said Arcade next, sidling into the lobby behind her. He held a metal tin with foil poking out the edge. “Alice McBride sent you some dinner.”

 

“And a beer!”

 

“Yes, and a beer. She acted like it was supposed to be a secret.” He shakes his head.

 

“Oh, that wonderful woman! She makes it herself, you know,” she said, popping the top off the Grolsch bottle. It made a satisfying hiss and the smell of yeast filled the room. “She knows what a just girl likes at the end of a hard day.”

 

Veronica looked at him and raised her eyebrows.

 

“Just because I believe you about the behavior does not mean I understand it!” said Arcade, crossing his arms. “I just don’t know how you do it. These people… they don’t understand that the decisions we’re making are supposed to help them during situations _exactly like this._ That’s what they picked us for! Novac was one of the first towns to sign up for the charter meeting. I think I got their letter before we even left! That means they wanted to be a part of the Mojave United _before_ we gave that speech about it!”

 

“Woah, there,” said V, holding up her hands. “Let’s keep it cool.”

 

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” He was not fine.

 

“You’re right, though,” said Six, “This is _exactly_ what they picked us for.” Inside the metal tin were a sharp knife, a steaming potato with a slice of butter, and sizzling hot Brahmin steak only _barely_ touched to a grill. _Unbelievable_ , she sighed, letting it fall apart on her tongue. 

 

Arcade Gannon readjusted his glasses and muttered to V, “Then _obviously_ I don’t understand why they are unwilling to trust us.”

 

Veronica pulled back her hood, scratched her head, and looked at Six.

 

Six set down the tinfoil and spoke slowly, meaningfully. “When you ask for the right to govern people, you are making a promise to care about them. When we created the Mojave United, we promised to care about all of the people in our neck of the woods _and_ their problems. Sure, they don’t need us most of the time and most of the time we can’t bring them everything that they need much less everything they want but we _can_ promise to be a source of strength and compassion in the hard times because we care about them.” Six shrugged and continued eating. “These are the hard times. They need us to care.”

 

“Now you sound like a politician,” grumbled Arcade.

 

Six grinned and saluted him with her knife. “Gets worse every day, doesn’t it?”

 

“Yeah…” said Veronica, not sure whether to join in. “Hey, Six. Are you busy right now?”

 

“That’s a good question.” She looks down at a folder on the top of the pile of Nipton’s export ideas titled ‘Ant Energy Farm’. “Does it mean I don’t have to read any more of these?”

 

“Absolutely,” V answers promptly. “We’d like to talk to you long enough that you _never_ have to read ‘Economical Nightcrawler Feces Harvesting’ ever again. Eew.”

 

Immediately, Six set down the ‘Novac Steel Mold Blueprint Archive’ and ushered them into the moth-eaten chairs. She barred the lobby door with a little latch, then scuttled back to her chair behind the desk, and folded her hands very professionally one over the other. “My friends, how can I be of service this fine evening?”

 

“Well,” said Arcade uncomfortably, watching Six roll the stiffness out of her shoulders, “It’s about Jerry.”

 

“I see," she said. "Is this in regards to what Sr. Tejada spoke about with me earlier?”

 

“Probably,” said Veronica. “Jerry’s a pretty great kid; he’s helpful, friendly, and _very_ interested in becoming a Follower and putting his brain to use. He’s great! It’s just that… he’s also been spending a lot of time with Arcade, you see, like an _unusual_ amount of time.”

 

“-And it isn’t that I don’t want him around!” Arcade said very quickly.

 

“No, of course not,” continued Veronica. “Raul talked to you and we are coming to you now because, well… Jerry has a _crush_ on him. On Arcade, I mean. Jerry definitely has a crush on Arcade.”

 

“Ergh,” groaned Arcade.

 

“That is quite the situation you find yourselves in,” Six admitted. She paused to take another delicious sip of Alice’s beer. “So, is this an urgent problem?”

 

Veronica and Arcade looked at one another with surprised faces.

 

“Sorry, sorry, let me rephrase that,” Six said, raising a hand. “Crushes happen, especially with teenagers who are experiencing independence for the first time. Arcade is a sensitive, intelligent man who isn’t prone to tactless behavior and Jerry is a good boy who wouldn’t be disrespectful to his friends. It makes a lot of sense; Arcade is very attractive!”

 

Arcade’s cheeks turned pink and he mumbled something unintelligible. V and Six share a smile.

 

“What I’m saying is that this is a pretty common scenario that could all play out very naturally. If you don’t return his affections, a quick conversation and a gentle ‘no, thanks’ _should_ be the end of is with minimal embarrassment all around. I think most young people understand that _acting_ upon an unrequited sexual urge is different than just _fantasizing_ about one, right?”

 

“Maybe,” Veronica said reasonably, “but Jerry is old enough right to be _treated_ like an adult by his tribe, even if he hadn’t passed his last trial yet. His other friends around his age _had_ passed, though, and they were all accepted as full adult members of the tribe; free to make any adult decision about their own adult lives and bodies that they want!”

 

Six leaned forward and propped her chin in her hand. “So kids Jerry’s age can do shit like marry and fuck and do a head full of Psycho with each other all at the same time because they’re not minors by their tribe once they pass their rites. Go on.”

 

“Okay, so, we’ve _always_ been on the side of personal freedom for our citizens but I guess we were also assuming that our definition of ‘citizen’ had a set age requirement. Many people won’t want us to take a subjective position that doesn’t agree with their pre-existing social structure, whatever that is.”

 

Six cocks her head. “Could you break that thought down a little more? I'm almost with you.”

 

“Like… maybe some tribes aren’t going to be happy if we say that their ‘traditional marriages’ aren’t legal anymore, especially if it’s for moral reasons they don’t agree with. Any tribe might look at a law like that and think ‘hey, they’re erasing our culture over here!’ and pull out of the charter.”

 

“Taking a stand on Jerry’s age-of-majority status might cause people to feel trepidation about our team making ethical decisions on their behalf,” said Six, nodding her head. “I see how that would concern you.”

 

“Does that seem like a probable outcome?” said Arcade suddenly, crossing his legs so he looked like a sullen pretzle. “What I’m asking is while I know it’s _possible_ … does morality-based governmental dissolution seem like the result that we should be _most_ prepared to face in the wake of… whatever this is?”

 

Veronica looks affronted at first but smiles at herself anyway. “Okay, maybe I’m overthinking it, but at the same time… it isn’t unusual for all kinds of healthy, mature relationships to exist between all kinds of capable, consenting people but what if the issue people take with our stance on adulthood becomes about Jerry’s new sexual attitude or the shame of his former Khan past and not about the inappropriateness of his age… like it, maybe, should be.” She faltered and looked back at her teammate for support.

 

“We just want to have a conversation with him,” Arcade picked up, resettling his black-rimmed glasses once again. “There are things he should know about his new identity and we feel _obligated_ as his friends to inform him about them properly before someone puts awful, self-destructive ideas in his head. Like, how gay couples are not always perceived positively by heteronormals, or how occasionally we get forced into dangerous work or transformative cults because our behavior is… different. Or something like that.”

 

Six raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking my permission to give him the gay birds and the bees talk?”

 

“No!” said Veronica, pressing her hands together in front of her mouth and breathing deeply. “We want to know what to tell him about relationships and what to expect from _us_. As a government.”

 

“Okay, I think I understand now. Let me ask you one really simple question, if I may, and then I’m ready to give you some advice.” She stood and walked around the lobby desk to perch right in front of them. “Why did you bring this problem to me?”

 

Arcade spoke up right away. “Well, we were worried that some people might get the wrong idea if I’m spending a lot of time with a boy who is _much_ younger than I am and maybe they’ll think I’m doing something awful like _grooming_ him...”

 

“I’m sorry, I should have been more clear,” Six interrupted, folding her hands together on her crossed knees. “Why did the two of you, specifically, bring this problem to me? You could have told me about Jerry’s crush separately but you came together instead. You could also have sent Lily to tell me; she and Jerry are close and it wouldn’t have been hard to convince her and even then, Raul had already come to me with his concerns. In fact, you could even have encouraged Jerry himself to come talk to me about it but you decided that the two of you should come _together_ to get my opinion _privately_. Why?”

 

It was a question that left very little room for dissembling, which freed Veronica to speak plainly. “We’ve never really had a conversation about how the Mojave United will handle people like… well… us.”

 

“ _Gay people_ , Veronica,” prompted Arcade.

 

“Well, yes. Gay.” Her mouth twisted as though the sound of the word was unusual to make. “We’ve never talked about how gay people will fit in. Or what marriage should look like. Or when a person becomes an adult…” she looked a little chagrined. “There are a lot of things we haven’t had time to talk about.”

 

Courier Six let them sit quietly enough to hear the branches of a lonely Joshua Tree scrape against the side of the motel. Who knows when they would have the chance to enjoy such a cool, dark breeze again? Her heart felt heavy and when she began again, she spoke softly into the room.

 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I never spoke with you about these kinds of things because I assumed you knew my mind on the subject and that we, collectively, had more fundamental problems to worry about: like how we were going to create an entire society from the ground up. I have always believed that a person should be entitled to the same life as anyone else and that they can make any relationship decision they like but I realize that I might never have said it aloud. As your team leader, I should have been more sensitive to your concerns.”

 

Veronica pressed her lips together. Her nod was slow and thoughtful. Arcade, too, was listening closely.

 

“At the same time, I don’t ask questions about your personal lives very often because… well, we have so little time to ourselves in the first place. I feel like a bad friend when I infringe upon any little bit of privacy.” Six sipped her beer and felt her eyes prickle.

 

“I noticed,” said Arcade, quietly.

 

“Anyway, I just want you both to know that we’re not here to get in the way of people’s personal lives as long as there is no harm done by it. We aren’t here to impose on people; it’s not one of our _banners_ ,” she said, gesturing up and behind herself like she did at the Speech. It made them laugh.

 

“Ok,” said Veronica, scratching her uncovered scalp and sighing.

 

Six jiggled Veronica’s knee with her toes. “Ok? Ok, it’s been a long day, so I’ll tell you _quickly_ what I think you should do right now and then let you get to it, ok? Here’s my advice for your _specific_ situation.” She pressed her fingertips together over her knees and said, “You need to decide what your message to Jerry is going to be but it can _only_ be the one thing that concerns you the most. No more, no less. Teenagers _listen_ very well but only for a really short amount of time.”

 

Arcade shakes his head. “But how do we--”

 

“You'll just have to pick the most important one,” says Six. “Teenagers have an innate time limit on how long they can listen to Adults. Overstay your welcome with a big lecture and it won’t matter how cool you are, they’ll be cranky and tune you out - it’s just their way - so, you have to pick yourconcern carefully and only talk about that. Then, if he has any questions, be ready to answer them but otherwise you'll have done your job.”

 

“What about the rest of it?” ask3e Veronica, looking very concerned. “ALL of the other things are still important!”

 

“If you tell him your fears all at once, he’ll only learn that talking about sex and relationships is _scary_ and he’ll shut down. Only tell him what he needs to know right this second.”

 

“Right this second?” said Arcade, alarmed.

 

“Yes, indeed! We haven’t been _Non Persona Corpums_ for a long time.”

 

He winced. “That is not how that phrase is conjugated!”

 

“Nevertheless!” Six clapped her hands very softly to get them back on track. “What is the biggest concern about this crush that you need to tell Jerry about Right Now?”

 

“Oooooh!” said Arcade and Veronica both. Without speaking any further, they looked at one another and reached a decision.

 

Arcade sighed. “I know what it has to be.”

 

“It has to be about unequal relationships, doesn’t it?”

 

“Yeah, it probably does. You should do that sooner rather than later.” Six stood up and stretched her arms. “If you wait until morning, he has to think about it all day. If you do it now, he can go to sleep and get some distance right away.”

 

“That’s a good idea,” said Veronica, tugging her green and yellow hood back up. “He'll still be at the clinic, so we'll go there. Goodnight, Six.”

 

“Sleep well,” she said, accepting another hug.

 

“...goodnight,” mumbled Arcade.

 

"You can do it. He'll understand."

 

They closed the door behind themselves and it was finally quiet. The pile of unfinished paperwork stood impudently on her desk but after a while of staring at it, Six didn’t move to pick up her pen again. She wondered what advice she would have given herself at Jerry's age. Would she have listened to any of it? Probably not.

 

Her Pip-boy said the hour was almost midnight and long past her bedtime. Six waited several minutes then closed up the lobby and crept along to the last door on the bottom floor: Lily’s room. Silently, she pressed her ear against the door until she heard the nightkin’s rumbling voice talking quietly to someone else inside. Sniffles and the sound of someone blowing their nose could be heard between her deep growls.

 

 _Sorry, friend. It gets better, I think._  Six softly touched the doorknob, then went upstairs to sleep.


	13. THE CHAPTER WHEREIN A Legionary has Integrity, a 1st Recon Soldier does not, and the Rest of the World’s gone crazy, too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six has an unexpected visitor. He does not bring good news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you feel as though the timeline in these several chapters has been stretched and squashed to accommodate several plot points inside a week… you’d be right. The team is having a chaotic time of it.

_BANGBANGBANGBANG!!_

 

Pounding fists shake Six's motel door hard enough split the weak hinges. It's dark and loud outside.

 

_BANGBANGBANG!!_

 

“I’m coming!” she calls, sitting up and glancing at the nightstand. 5:27. Six completely failed to undress last night, choosing instead to fall straight into bed without so much as turning down the covers. She's out of bed and at the door with only a second to smooth down her wild curls.

 

“SMOKE!” No-Bark Noonan shouts in her face. He waves a raggedy arm behind him. “There’s smoke over the mountain! Look!!”

 

“What?” says Six, following his shaking finger. “Smoke where?”

 

The Dino Dee-lite courtyard is empty as it is far too early for anyone to set up stalls. Market day might be a big deal but nothing and no one is too precious for 5 goddamn 30 in the morning. She looks also at Dinky's feet and stairs; Dinky being the enormous novelty shop of Novac shaped like a T-Rex holding a thermometer. A bit of chicken wire fence covers a newspaper lined hole in his back leg. Six sees nothing there, either - even the damn chickens are asleep!

 

“It's over the eastern ridge towards the Colorado,” growls Boone, which makes Six jump in surprise. She tries to reassure herself that her surprise was only caused by Boone's stern voice suddenly eminating from No-Bark's fragrant beard, but her uneasy feeling grows when she sees rifle in his hands. "It only appeared half an hour ago according to Manny. He said there was some commotion down the road starting at 300 hours. I guess now we know why."

 

Boone is wearing straight-laced boots and an armored jacket. “Were you on watch last night?” she asks.

 

“...No.”

 

“Okay, I’m coming,” she says. Six throws on her coat and sprints to catch up, barely pausing long enough to hear the door latch. The two men are already down the stairs and across the courtyard when she jumps the last three steps. Noonan dashes right out the front gate, presumably to rouse others from their slumber, but Boone turns towards Dinky. Six trips up the wooden steps behind him.

 

“Do you know what’s going on?” A man in a too-big Hawaiian shirt sits behind the counter of the Dino Dee-Lite gift shop, already smoking a cigarette. Its smoke wafts up into the peeling plaster.

 

“Not yet,” says Boone. He motions for Six to hurry, then pounds up the second flight of stairs to the Tyrannosaurus' mouth.

 

“Six?”

 

She shakes her head. “Nope, I just got here.”

 

"Let me know, I guess." He knocks off the ash of his smoke and returns to listening to a little, staticky radio.

 

Upstairs, Manny is looking towards the eastern road out of town. He's folded into a cramped squat so all three adults can fit between Dinky's teeth without tangling their guns together and Boone has already chosen to stand in the gap where molars would be on an herbivore and for Dinky, should have been a mechanical fuse box. A thin ribbon of pink dawn over the flat-top hills where a column of thick, curling smoke obscures the dark horizon, as promised. It rises on the far side of the hills and sinks in dark waves into their valley like a sigh of fiery, ashy breath.

 

Six unbuttons her jacket and kneels behind a canine. “Is that a natural fire or are the Legionaries taking Polynesian theater classes these days?” she says. A wet, woody stench permeates the air and her heart grows heavy with dread.

 

Manny shakes his head slowly with horror. “I don’t know, man, this is some spooky-ass shit right here. I keep seeing these motherfuckers in red skirts on the road but it's too smoky and they’re all just out of range for me to peg one. It's like they _know_ I can't shoot that far!”

 

Boone frowns, sharpening the corners of his eyes and mouth. “They know your range?”

 

"It sure feels like it." Manny presses his eye back to the scope.

 

“What do you see?” shouts a nervous voice from outside the dinosaur. Six leans over and spots the rest of her team gathered below Dinky’s peeling jaw. Veronica, out of her armor at this early hour, is staring up at Six and hugging herself for warmth. Cass leans against the town perimeter fence under Lily's arm and Arcade is looking through a book with a plastic binding.

 

“Smoke from the east,” Six answers, pointing over the junk gate towards the dark column. “What town is over there?”

 

 V confers with the other while jumping up and down. Arcade hands her his lab coat. “Um… There’s a really old bunker over there!”

 

Boone leans close, just brushing her hair away from her ear with one finger to mutter, “It was Nelson.”

 

“Yech. I don’t think they stood a chance," she says. Six turns to look at him and gasps, almost rubbing her nose against his cheek. He came much closer than she'd first realized and catches the fleeting scents of stale coffee, cigarette smoke, and rough scrubbing soap from him. It's one she knows by heart.

 

Boone flinches. "Sorry," he says, backing up.

 

"Courier, there's more." Manny holds out his rifle to Six.

 

Six accepts the gun and uses the scope like he did. The smoke is worryingly dark, especially through the pass in the rocks where the road cuts through the low ridge _._ Nelson hadn't been much of a town even before it had taken its turn as an NCR graveyard. Raul believed it wouldn't be worth putting new settlers there until the impossible future when the stalemate ended and it seems he's been proven correct. The smoke moves unnaturally along the cracked asphalt, suddenly swirling and rising enough to show the feet of the hidden soldiers then settling into the potholes again. Occasionally, she can see the silver glint of steel greaves but it's not enough to get a bead on their formation.

 

Six leans out again and informs the rest of the team. “Bastards got Nelson.”

 

“Christ!" Arcade swears.

 

“SOMEONE’S COMING, DEARIE!” Lily, the only one vertically gifted enough to see over Novac’s wall, is pointing towards the bridge beyond the barred gate. Quickly, Six jams the scope to her eye and follows her finger.

 

The dawn is announcing itself more presently by the moment. The sky, unsatisfied with a mere ribbon of pink, is throwing violent orange light upon every wispy cloud the desert can make and shining on every shimmering grain of sand. The ugly smoke, too, is becoming more garishly pronounced blocking the light like discordant screaming over a fine quartet. One little boy, dressed only in a dull red tunicae, races ahead of them. The slaps of his wood and leather sandals echo off the smooth plaster houses of Novac, seems like two or three children running at once. He stops on the bridge right above where Lily jumped over the side not thirty seconds ago and bellows with all of his strength.

 

“Now comes before you the Right Hand of Caesar, the Legate Lanius! Monster of the East, First of the Legion, and Commander of the Armies of Mars! My Lord Lanius _requests_ the presence of the Sixth Courier of the Mojave to speak about the future of Nevada. My Lord will receive her four hundred and fifty yards east of the sniper’s nest and she shall come alone and unarmed!”

 

Then he stands at attention. Six chews her lip and stares down at him. Her thoughts are whirling faster than they ever have at 6:00 in the morning. She is piecing an idea together when a nervous cough catches her ear.

 

“Are they coming any closer?” whispers Manny, staring at the scope of his gun in Six’s hands.

 

“No,” Six says, taking one more look at the skinny messenger boy then swiveling to look down the road again. It seems that while they were talking, the grey curtain parted long enough for the players to take their places onstage. Ten soldiers stand abreast along the road at precise intervals. Along with the little boy and the yet-unseen Lanius that makes a round dozen Legionaries at their doorstep. “That’s a really specific distance, though, four hundred and fifty yards.”

 

Boone grimaces. She can almost hear the grinding of teeth.

 

“What?” says Six.

 

“It’s further than Manny can shoot with his gun… but not too far for me.” He glances at Six. “It’s the same shot I missed in Red Rock.”

 

“...Oh.”

 

She returns Manny's gun and thinks of her team huddling together under Dinky. Herstomach sinks like a stone in her belly.  _I guess it’s no surprise the Legion would know the limits of our talents... Vulpes would_   _know._

 

What is she going to do? It would be nothing for a dozen soldiers to nab an unarmed woman that ridiculous distance from the town. Even with Boone's sharp eyes covering her, it would be stupid to go. She could be kidnapped or dead or  _long_ before he could squeeze off enough shots to stop them but if she doesn't go... the Legion has a nasty history of punishing disobedience with violence. The town fence is only rotten plywood and old car parts dragged down from Repconn and so many houses are thin plaster held together with Western Determination. They're going to dig a well, soon. Then, these people want to get the train tracks running and ship brand new steel beams to the city in exchange for cars full of Brahmin and precious seed. Even the Followers are planning to build a regional clinic in the center of town.

 

It could all go up in flames.

 

“Good. Then, you’re already prepared to cover me.”

 

“What?” says Boone, tightly.

 

“You’ll have to watch my back while I’m out there, duh," says Six with an impudent flick of her hair. "You're the only one who can.”

 

Boone gestures towards the bridge with a grasping hand. “You can’t!" he cries, "It’s obviously a trap! He wants to take you out before you become a problem!”

 

Six shakes her head. “No… no, something is different about this. That boy said ‘request’, not ‘demand’. It’s not like them to make such a show of respecting boundaries. They want something from me...”

 

She leans out of the dino’s mouth before Boone can grab her and yells, “DOES LANIUS GUARANTEE MY SAFETY AND THE SAFETY OF THIS TOWN?”

 

The boy looks up and answers in his piercing cry, “Yes, Courier! My lord wishes to talk _only._ ”

 

“What collateral does he offer?”

 

“...Excuse me?”

 

“What collateral does Lanius offer to ensure our safety?" she shouts. "Obviously, he must _demonstrate_ his honor before I act upon it, so go ask him what collateral he offers!”

 

The boy turns and runs away. The echo of his sandals fades away.

 

Grinning, she leans back in the dino then finds herself seized by the shoulders and spun around to see Boone's dark, scowling face. “What are you doing?” he hisses, holding her biceps painfully. “Are you trying to piss him off??”

 

Six trembles under his anger, scraping her back against an ancient plaster tooth. Despite herself, she swallows and says, “We can’t behave as though we’re completely at his mercy! If I don’t set some terms, it looks like we don’t believe in our own position and the Legion will _know_ we're a day late and a dollar short.” She taps on his vice-like hands and he releases her.

 

“It’s so obviously a trap, though!” he repeats, eyes wide. "Why would you give him exactly what he wants?" She straightens her clothes, tucks in her shirt, and suchwhat. It feels a little bad not to have a comb in her jacket, but there's at least a peppermint to hide her morning dragon's breath.

 

"The fate of every person in this valley depends on how I deal with this man right now." Six gives Boone a flashy smile. "As their diplomatic representative, I should roll out the welcome wagon, don't you think?"

 

"Don't even  _joke_!" he hisses. "It would take half a second for him to snap your neck! Why can't you just--" He closes in but his mouth works silently for several minutes to no further effect. Eventually, Boone sighs and pulls off his sunglasses. His dark, narrow eyes look into hers, focused with his usual intensity though she is clearly a closer target than normal. It looks difficult for him. He reaches out and she thinks that he's going to take hold of her again but instead, his hand slips into the pocket of her coat. 

 

He pulls out the red felt hat and gently sets it on her head. Her skin tingles where his rough fingertips touch her cheek. "If you think you might not make it out of there... take it off." 

 

 "I understand."

 

There doesn't seem to be anything else to say. She turns and flees down the stairs.

 

"Where are you going?" asks Cliff, lighting another.

 

"Out!" The next moment, she sprints through the motel gate. 

 

"THERE'S MORE OF THEM NOW," says Lily, pointing over the wall.

 

"Are they armed?" asks Six.

 

"No!" calls Jerry, perched on her shoulder. Faintly, she notices that he is sitting on the shoulder furthest from Arcade, who is standing quietly between Cass and Veronica. 

 

"Okay, open the gate." 

 

Veronica hauls on the rope and the gate crossing the bridge swings open. The boy in the red tunicae is back along with one of the ten splendidly armored men from the pass.

 

"Courier," says the soldier, "I will remain inside Novac's walls until you return."

 

"Excellent," she says, as though her opinion matters, "Then I am prepared."

 

"Follow me!" The boy beckons with one hand and dashes away.

 

Six passes the soldier and jogs to catch the boy who is fleetly almost across the bridge. Right away, she counts her steps in her head, figuring that she should at least _try_ to stay aware of her surroundings. Stay within 450 yards, that's all she has to do. She _aches_ to look back, to spot the gleam of light off Boone’s scope but here in the shadows of soldiers flying red banners, she makes the choice not to show fear. These are no ordinary soldiers. Their pauldrons are not football pads, but hammered steel riveted to quality leather that is too oiled, too well crafted to be given to mere recruits. They watch her pass from behind mirrored sunglasses and decorated helmets with goggles. It's... unnervingly quiet.

 

The boy suddenly splits from her side and she finally sees a painted red stripe cutting across the highway, a glistening finish line. A blinding figure, reflecting the orange and pink down on a full set of polished armor, is too painful to look at. Six squints only at the road ahead of her, still counting.

 

_Four hundred and thirty-six? No, four hundred and thirty-seven… So, if I stay on this side of the line, I will definitely be in Boone’s range._

 

Thus reassured, she stands at her full height and uses her hand to block the sun so that at long last, she can see Legate Lanius.

 

He.

 

Is.

 

HUGE.

 

Both in height and in breadth, Legate Lanius _must_  be the largest person Six has ever seen in her life. He would knock his head on _every_ threshold in Gomorrah, scrape elbows-to-shoulders through even the broadest streets, and probably be the greatest scourge to low coffee tables that ever existed. What’s more, every inch of him is covered in shining, polished armor. He's a lighthouse, punishing any attempt to look directly at him with tears and blindness. Who’s brilliant fucking idea was that?

 

“Ave, Courier. True to Caesar,” he says. Six is surprised, she expected a voice like a meat grinder. Instead, he has a clear, resonant voice enhanced by the metallic amplifier of a helmet he has. For a wild moment, Six thought he would make a fine lounge singer at the Tops... then dismissed it as adrenaline-fueled nonsense.

 

Somehow, she gets her hand to a place where she can glimpse the highly stylized metal faceplate of his helmet. Its golden scowl is set among sharp points of a wild golden beard, very much imitating the same sun that's burning out her eyes.

 

“A-ave,” she responds, quietly.

 

“Courier Six!” shouts a new voice, a skinny initiate to one side who holds a banner depicting a golden sun cut horizontally as though rising or setting. He bellows with a high, intense call loud enough to be heard all the way back at Dinky's feet behind the wall. “Tremble in fear!! Come you now before the right hand Caesar, who drives his enemies before him on the blade of the God of War. Addressing you now is the Monster of the East, the Scourge of the West!! Behold, the Sun of Mars... the Legate Lanius!!”

 

“Fancy!” she remarks, turning back to Lanius. With a shaky smile, she holds out her free hand. “I’m just Courier Six.”

 

His massive helmet angles down, alleviating some of the blinding light. She could probably see him staring down at her outstretched hand without comprehension, except that the recesses of the terrible face are too dark to discern. 

 

“It’s a handshake," she explains. "You just take my hand and shake it. That’s what people do when they meet for the first time.”

 

No answer.

 

The trouble with the helmet, Six decides, is that all subtlety of his reactions is lost. He could be staring at her hand with outrage - a logical reaction that would match any other Legionary's instinctual revulsion - or humor. They would all look the same! A merchant would never play Caravan without being able to see the cards but here she is, Six realizes, about to conduct this entire conversation without being able to see her opponent's face.

 

"It's up to you," she tries one last time, smiling insistently. "You don't have to shake my hand but it's polite anyway."

 

His broad pauldrons rise and fall, then he reaches down and makes her hand  _disappear_ in his gauntlet. With a skillful roll, he turns their hands so that her fingers only grasp the top of his cold steel knuckles and, leaning down quite far indeed, touches them to the lips of his faceplate without catching her on even one jagged beard spike. Her hand just slips away when he resumes his attentive, upright stance.

 

“I have come to declare my intentions towards you, Courier Six of the Mojave United," he announces in that same clear voice, "I trust you have studied and contemplated the contents of my letter?”

 

“Oh, sure,” she drawls. “It’s been just a _little_ bit on my mind lately, there, chief.”

 

Silence. Sarcasm, it seems, is not a talent of his.

 

She makes an open gesture with both hands and sighs. “I apologize. It is still early in the morning for me and I haven’t had my coffee yet. _Of course,_ I've been thinking about your letter, please continue.”

 

“Indeed,” he says with a stiff set to his shoulders. With those massive pauldrons, she could easily be the Jerry to his Lily. “Since you did not choose to send a reply, the Praetorian Guard and I are doing you the courtesy of meeting in-person to discuss it.”

 

"The Praetorian Guard? Caesar's men?" She glances around at the dozen men, still standing ram-rod straight with their flapping banners. She can almost feel their eyes hidden behind a dozen pairs of mirrored sunglasses, watching.

 

"I am here at Caesar's bidding, therefore it is fitting they should see his will executed."

 

"I see." Six quietly gulps at his choice of word. "And what is Caesar's will today?"

 

"The Son of Mars has commanded that before the seasons change away from his influence, Nevada shall become the next arm of the Empire. It is to this end that I informed you to meet me at the crest of Hoover Dam when the old moon sets. When the dawn lights the lake, much as the dawn now, we shall cross swords once and for all." Then, he stands tall with a puffed out chest. Six raises her eyebrows at his pose and coughs into her fist. 

 

"Uh-huh... sounds grand. Couple of questions, though... How are you planning on getting to the middle Hoover Dam? The whole thing is under NCR control and has been for more than a year!"

 

His armor rattles. "Don't concern yourself. We shall simply sweep them out of the way."

 

"No, of course not. And... how will the winner of this cage-match be decided, exactly? It is best two out of three, or do we flip a coin to see who goes first?"

 

"The duel will be to the death, of course."

 

"Of course. Absolutely. To the death. Hey, here's an idea: how about instead of swords, we use pistols at 20 paces to kill each other, huh? That feels pretty traditional." Six feels a spasm of laughter bubbling in her chest. She crosses her arms to hold it in but he appears agitated all the same.

 

“It would be dishonorable to accept such a tactic!" he says, hardening the bite of his words. "There is no integrity in such using such a tool to cripple a soldier's work! To feel the crunch of a man's skull under your heel, to see the life extinguish in his eyes... to paint the earth red with their dying blood - _that_ is how you know a day's work is done. The snap of a man’s bone - have you ever heard it? - there is no sound like it in the world… I envision that Nevada will be paid for thusly with _your_ blood, Courier. It will be a day of Victory. On that day, I will light your corpse ablaze and throw that holy beacon into the canyon for all the men to see, just as I did to the last man I dueled." 

 

The cold sun doesn't warm the pass with its color anymore. It has risen too high.

 

Six catches herself and tries to breathe normally. It's time to use her _brain._  Something is rotten in the state of Denmark and it's  _something_ to do with Lanius's little speech. If his goal was to conquer Nevada by killing her in one-on-one combat, why wouldn't he draw his sword right here in front of the Praetorians and be done with it? Is the big spectacle on Hoover really necessary? If this was Vulpes, she'd be asking him the kind of probing questions he loved to answer with transparently false obtuseness. This... was a different man entirely.

 

Courier Six suddenly snaps up and barks, “Ok, cut the shit! What makes you think I would agree to such a stupid idea?”

 

Sharply, the helmet angles down to leer at her. The soldiers just around him go still and rest their weight on their back legs. “What did you say?” Lanius growls.

 

“I _said_ , I never agreed to your awful duel in the first place and I am offended that you think I ever would! Look at you: _you’re the size of a mountain._ No physical challenge between us could EVER be fair and, frankly, I am even _more_ offended that you would uphold the honor of such a thing at all! You can’t just _assume_ I’ll go along with something because I don’t say ‘no’ right away!”

 

“That will be enough of th--!”

 

“ _Furthermore_ ,” she plows on, “Have you considered literally any other options regarding diplomacy with the Mojave United at all? Did you consider for one second talking through mutual NCR grievances with us, or paying locals to borrow our securitron army, or -  and here’s a wild idea - _NOT beating a woman half your size to death on top of Hoover Dam??_ Of all the ill-conceived, bull-headed, _arrogant_ ideas a man could ever co--”

 

"Silence!! You will not speak to m--!"

 

"I mean, just how wrong can one man  _be_? Do you think it's such a goddamn privilege to be in your presence that soldiers are just  _lining up_ to be slaughtered by you? Don't even get me started on the--"

 

“COURIER SIX!! I INTEND TO MARRY YOU!!”

 

"..."

 

"..."

 

"..."

 

"..."

 

“...I’m sorry. _What_ did you say?”

 

“If you do not wish to save your city through Honorable Combat," he says, exactingly, "then you will Join me in Arizona and become the Wife of the next Caesar.”

 

“That… that is what I thought you said.” Her mind feels floaty. Weren’t they just talking about breaking the bones of his enemies? "What... exactly do you mean by that?"

 

Lanius leans down and the enraged helmet suddenly takes up her entire vision. For half a second, she considers throwing Boone's hat in his face and breaking for Novac but her feet are made of concrete in the face of its wild eyes. 

 

"I mean that you will stand before Caesar and his Council of Centurions and pledge your lifelong devotion to me. You will live in my house, bear my children, and serve me as your husband, wearing my collar for the rest of your days."

 

"...oh god."

 

"I see you are finally taking this conversation seriously."

 

Six, unable to really focus on that last part, chooses a different tack. “Do you presume that marrying me is the sign that the Legion owns Nevada?”

 

“Absolutely. All of Nevada - New Vegas, its people, and all those in the surrounding areas - would become subject to Legion rule and law, assume responsibility for maintaining its stewardship and pay taxes to Caesar upon consummation becoming part of its mighty army.”

 

 _Consummation..._  “Taxes," insists the Courier. "You mean bribe money.”

 

“Taxes,” he repeats. “They are necessary for governmental operations, I understand.”

 

“Generally, the population expects some kind of _benefit_ from paying taxes.”

 

The helmet points over her shoulder, as though Lanius is considering New Vegas upon a map behind her. “Indeed, a union between us would prove prosperous for both of our countries. The Legion would maintain the roads and borders of all Nevada and defend her from criminals, bandits, opposing nations and so on. In return, the Mojave would provide labor, foreign housing, and income from the Strip.”

 

“You’ve thought about this a bit,” she says with a lift. "Are you sure you understand what marriage is, though? It's not the same thing as slavery."

 

Lanius hesitates. "Caesar's wisdom guides us."

 

Six blinks. "Caesar...  _he_ wants you to marry me?"

 

“My lord believes that demonstrating the qualities of marriage will prepare the Legion to adapt in upcoming years,” he says. “In all of his wisdom, Mars did not provide his soldiers with a mechanism for… peace.”

 

Six leans closer, frowning. “I'm sorry, did you say… _peace_?”

 

“Yes,” he says, nodding. “Despite the strength and capability of Arizona, it is becoming clear to my Lord that the Legion cannot continue to expand indefinitely. Overreaching could prove disastrous if the hands of man are too eager to seize beyond their means. If we are to fulfill his glorious vision of unity, then it will become necessary to alter the means of attaining it.”

 

“...you want to teach the Legion how to be at peace.”

 

“During appropriate periods of Prosperity, it would be beneficial to the health of the nation to take time to maintain roads, craft new weapons, and prepare supplies for future campaigns, et cetera. It is Caesar’s belief that men will be willing to campaign with even greater ferocity in the future if they are able to occasionally indulge the fruits of their labors.”

 

“Ok, see, that makes more sense,” she says, pointing at him. “ _You_ want to learn how to be at peace so you can rest up before eating the next chunk of the world. It’s a strategy to keep expanding the Empire without collapsing under its own weight.”

 

“Your statement, while incomplete, is not inaccurate.” 

 

In the interest of civil discourse, Six decides to ignore his condescension. “Why me?” she asks suddenly. "You could have just pointed at any woman you thought was hot and married her. Why go through all the trouble of tracking me down to make sure I got your note?"

 

Lanius shifts his massive weight from one foot to another. “Caesar… Caesar’s condition of inheritance was to lay this burden upon me,” he says uncomfortably. “As his Legate and future Caesar, my greatest purpose is to serve the Legion by upholding the will of Mars."

 

"Ah, so in order to get the keys to the kingdom, you've got to take care of his little Nevada problem and marry me about it."

 

He shifts his weight again and says, "Caesar wishes me to demonstrate marriage to the men."

 

Six looks at his feet, furrowing her brown with thought. “Let me get this straight: by marrying you, I give Caesar control of Nevada _and_ all of its most precious resources - Hoover Dam, the Colorado, Helios Once, the entire CITY of New Vegas and all of its people - simultaneously gaining _all_ of the most convenient roadways to our California neighbors _knowing_ that your intent is to capture them next and then you _further_ expect me to accept a role in your new society as ‘The Fruits of Your Labors’ so that I can help you teach an army of meathead thugs to better prepare for future wars _!?!?_ How could I possibly accept such a proposal? What reason could there be for me to hand you everything I've ever fought for... just like that?”

 

Lanius laughs. Just as his voice was clear and ringing, so too, is his laugh at her outburst, bouncing back and forth off the rocky walls of the pass. Still chuckling, Lanius shifts his stance and Six is put in mind of Veronica shedding her work uniform going to bed at night. He relaxes his arms and allows his feet to point, naturally, a little away from one another. He looks less like a statue this way.

 

“Because, Courier," he says warmly, "To become the Wife of Caesar would provide you with a vastly better life! At the head of a victorious parade, you would live in a house with walls that keep out the wind and sand. You would eat fresh meat and clean vegetables and drink water that doesn’t taste of iodine. Your clothes would be made, your meals cooked, and your house cleaned for you. By becoming my wife you are accepting a life of luxury and class that befits a woman of your station! Tell me, what is the best hope for your future here? When was the last time you slept on a mattress with clean sheets? When has a garment ever truly fit you? Aren’t you tired of working with disrespectful, ungrateful illiterates?”

 

Her stomach roils. It takes a minor feat of will to keep from dashing to the side of the road and vomiting up all of her disdain. “My _people_ are hard-working, self-sacrificing _families_ who are starving to death from a war that isn’t theirs! If you think an offer of wealth and leisure can tempt me, you are sorely mistaken,” she hisses, glaring into the dark eyes of his faceplate.

 

The Legate’s massive form of steel and leather shudders with all manner of metallic dings and scrapes until at its full attentive stance, just as tall as before. “Suit yourself. I would rather not have your beauty choked out by a slave collar and dashed against the rocks when a lovely ring suits you better.”

 

“Don’t you _dare_ speak to me about love and beauty!” Six snarls, jamming her hands in her pockets to hide white-knuckled fists. “You have _NO_ idea what you’re talking about!!” She squeezes her eyes shut, willing her eyes to stop stinging. Her heart pounds in her chest, making her whole body throb with anger, fear, disgust... Six hardly knows what. 

 

A coyote yips in the distance. Another answers, miles away.

 

“Indeed... I do not.”

 

Six looks up. He spoke so quietly, she couldn't be sure it was really Lanius that spoke.

 

Yes, the helmet points at her still, staring with dark, unblinking eyes. “I… do not know what beauty or love looks like. Neither do I understand peace and complacency… or marriage,” he says.

 

“And you think Caesar does?”

 

“Caesar… wants to.”

 

“That’s right, he wanted you to marry someone else, didn’t he?”

 

He falls silent.

 

“...but you don’t want to do that?”

 

Still nothing.

 

“No. If you wanted a pretty whore to bully, you could have picked any poor, miserable slave from your fuck-cages,” she says, dismissively. Her tongue lies thick against her grit teeth.

 

At that little quip, Lanius’ helmet rings with laughter again. It booms strongly enough from the snarling golden mouth to rattle the whole faceplate and in her surprise, Six almost forgets to be angry. Almost.

 

“Right," she presses, "but _I’m_ the Courier. I represent everything loathsome about the freedom of the west: liberated, loose women and cowardly, sheltered men; strung out druggies and raging alcoholics; tyrannical crime lords and the cruel, unyielding assimilation of the NCR. Hell, sometimes when I say it, I hate me, too... but you _want_ that at the end of your leash, don’t you? It’s a pretty sweet notch on your belt.”

 

“Who wouldn’t?” he chuckles, still rattling with humor.

 

“So, this is my counteroffer. You _ask_ me to marry you and I make a choice. If you actually want to do this, if you _really_ want to marry me, then we would have a partnership… between equals. I would do my part and help you reshape the national mold but then you would have to take my advice on it. You would get the Mojave and all of the people in New Vegas but then you would have to take care of them."

 

"Is that all?"

 

She licks her lips. "And… and I am more than a fucktoy. I’m, like, a real person with responsibilities and opinions and everything... whether I’m married or not. Accepting that is part of the deal.”

 

“Very well.”

 

“You agree?”

 

“I promise that I will think on it." Lanius holds out his hand. "I hope to discuss it more in the future, Courier.”

 

Six decides that this promise is probably the best she’s going to get. She takes his offer and his hand. “I don't mean to offend but for my safety and the safety of my people, I hope we never meet again.”

 

His gauntlet grips her fingers with an insistent pinch. With a little tug, he quickly pulls her closer; so quickly that Six doesn’t think to resist until her toes are already skimming across the road. A pebble clatters over the bright red line and she startles up, ready to pull away…

 

_TZING!!_

 

With a deafening clang, Lanius yanks back, jerking Six’s shoulder badly enough to yelp. She tears her hand out of his grasp and stumbles back over the line, nearly falling in her haste.

 

_TZING!!_

 

“NO!” Six cries, turning back toward Novac. She runs pell-mell towards the bridge, waving her arms. “BOONE, DON’T!!”

 

_TZING!!_

 

_Please don’t send the Praetorian Guard after us… Please don’t burn the town… Please..._

 

The gate rolls open and she’s sprinting across the bridge, too frightened to look back and see whether Lanius’ flashing armor is following her in the real world, too. She's just running to stay ahead of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here were my liner notes for this chapter:
> 
> ((Breakdown: L: I'm going to marry you 6: Bwuh? Why?" L: *describes something pretty close to slavery* 6: Are you sure you know what marriage is? L: ...No. But neither does anyone else, that's our job. 6: Wait, what?  L: *starts talking about what Caesar wants* 6: Caesar wants you to marry me? L:...Caesar wants me to get married. 6:... okay, that's what's going on. If we were to get married, it would look like THIS L: Ok, so when we get married... 6: Woah! I said if. L: Very well, you have given me much to think on. I hope to discuss it further with you in the future. 6: No offense but for my safety and the safety of my people, I honestly hope we never meet again. BOONE: LOL NOPE))
> 
> Literary genius over here. Great fuckin' Gatsby.


	14. THE CHAPTER WHEREIN Cass is the Jury, Boone is the Judge, and Everyone forgets how to be goddamn adults again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout from Six's actions pushes the Vegas Team to their breaking point.

“Stop! Stop shooting!” Six yells, tripping over the potholes in the bridge.

 

The squeal of heavy iron axels cuts through the skitter of gravel spraying behind her pounding boots. In her terrified ears, the showers sound like Lanius’ men charging her down, about to make her pay for her arrogance and blind trust. A tender-hearted hubris to believe a that colonizer could honor his own word. Six keeps her eyes on the sliver of grey buildings through the sliding gate and sprints the last few yards over the finish line.

 

“She’s in!”

 

“CLOSE IT! Close it now!”

 

The metallic screech is so much louder from this side. Veronica’s arms are open to catch her when she stumbles, dizzily, to a halt just inside the gate. Moments later, it bangs shut with an ear-splitting crash. Her heart pounds strongly enough to hurt her throat and there’s no water to cut the dry heat, either, so Veronica must entirely support her trembling body for several long moments. People move around near and far. So many footsteps… it sounds like a huge crowd…

 

Of course, it would be! Watching the Courier negotiate for their lives isn’t something a person just _ignores_ … Six shudders and forces blood into her toes by holding her breath. Then she breathes. Then she _holds_ … then she breathes. There might be a cramp pinching her foot.

 

When her heart finally calms, Six sees that her team has carried her away from the action to the high street outside the motel. After Repconn was open for trade, the locals decorated the wide intersection between the high street and the road to Repconn with spiky native plants and natural deadwood benches for people to use on market days. The local mechanic constructed several palm-front shades around the benches and after a little while, Dinosaur Square became the most popular hangout spot at all hours of the day.

 

Six’s ears weren’t lying, either. It looks like the whole town showed up to observe the commotion. Metal workers, Followers, Ranchers, and the like fill every corner of the square... except for a two-foot bubble of privacy around their bench, closest to the east gate.

 

Out by the gas station, Ranger Andy has already directed two pairs of people wearing protective baseball gear to attend the other gates while a handful of rolling ladders have been hooked to the strong iron anchors of Novac’s wall. Crouched at the top of each staircase is a young man or woman holding an automatic weapon and pointing its sights down the road. Despite their vigilance, and the point of Manny’s barrel out the mouth of the dinosaur, the sound of bullets hasn’t yet been heard. Instead, it’s a nervous kind of murmur where the lack of commotion is almost worse than the immediacy of an attack.

 

Six turns to Boone and whispers, “Why did you shoot? He was shaking my hand goodbye.” It might be too late to be upset by his actions but Six thinks she deserves to know why he made them.

 

“Seems like to me he was going to do more than that!” snaps Boone. Not only is he down here with them instead of the sniper’s nest, but his rifle is also re-holstered over one shoulder and he seems gravely uncomfortable with this arrangement. His scowl could be carved in sandstone. "He could have pulled you back into that smoking fucking wreck of a village quicker than you could get your hand on a knife!"

 

“BOONE IS TRYING TO KEEP YOU SAFE, DEARIE!” grunts Lily, crouching beside a saguaro. She rubs her shoulder against its piercing spines, digging at an itch persistently enough that the poor cactus only clings to life by the tips of its roots. “THAT BOY THEY SENT IS ON HIS WAY BACK HOME, TOO!”

 

“Eventually!” snipes Arcade. He finishes rolling up his sleeves and shoves his hands in the pockets of his sleek dress pants. “Craig just about had him eating his rifle barrel before the Ranger got his kids to throw the bastard back out the gate.”

 

“You weren’t going to give him back?” asks Six, turning sharply to Veronica. “I thought he was going to send the dogs after me!”

 

“It wasn’t decided like that!” cries V, wringing her hands. “Boone said he’d pulled you over the line, so we were ready to assume the worst!”

 

“Well, it _wasn’t_ the worst! It was--”

 

Just then, Manny’s voice calls down to the street, a little too distant to understand from Dino Square. Ranger Andy limps over and reports that the smoke from Nelson has cleared, along with their guests.

 

"They just up and left," he said. "Turned right around; never seen such a thing! We'll keep a watch out but you folks can get on, then."

 

Veronica thanks him and turns to the others. “See? I know it isn’t exactly time to kick up our feet but the situation seems to have de-escalated quite naturally, don’t you think? No one had to enact retribution on each other after all!”

 

“A likely story.”

 

Everyone looks to Boone, scowling in the shadow of Lily’s sunhat. He is glaring at Six as though she’d insulted his sighting technique.

 

“Excuse me?” says Six, uncomfortably echoing Lanius’ exclamation of the same.

 

“‘He wants to fight you for Vegas’... that’s not the whole story, is it Courier?” he sneers. “There’s more to your little meeting with Caesar’s right-hand _dog_ than meets the eye and you know it. You got awfully _cozy_ with him there at the end for something that wasn't a threat!”

 

Six throws back her shoulders. “If you’ve got something to say, Boone, maybe you’d better come out and say it!”

 

“Fine! I think you cut a deal with Lanius to sell us all out from under the NCR!”

 

Several people on the team roll their eyes... but not all of the people around them. They have become oddly frozen around their bubble.

 

“Then you won’t mind telling us what did you agree to," counters Boone. "Was that handshake your way of making Vegas the latest of his 97 tribes or were you just negotiating for a higher price?”

 

“No!” she yelps, step-hopping back. “No! Boone, I would never barter with people’s lives, how could you think that? Everything I do is to make this a _better_ place to live, not sell--”

 

“So is _that_ why you’re cutting deals behind everyone’s back? Don’t pretend like you haven’t been sneaking around in the dead of the goddamn night--!”

 

“‘Sneaking around?’” interrupts Cass, shooting her a piercing glare. “What does that mean, Six? Have you been up to something we should know about or what?”

 

Six’s blood shudders in her ears. What dead-of-night dealings does he mean? She does _a lot_ of things outside… he doesn't mean Vulpes, _necessarily…_

 

“I don’t know what he’s talking about!” Six crosses her arms and spins on her heel away from Boone, trembling right down to her toes. She faces squarely and tries to put on a reasonable tone. “It turns out that _most_ of my job takes place after night if I’m doing it correctly! I assumed you all wouldn’t want the details of my baby-making strategies, so _excuse me_ if it hasn’t been a regular topic of conversation between us. From now on, would you like me to give you a newsletter for every appointment related to my uterus or will you require _photo-fucking-graphic evidence_??”

 

“Bullshit!” Boone grabs her shoulder and whips her back around. His face is twisted with rage, purpling at the temples and staring around with veiny, popping eyes. She wants to lean away but his hand is like a vice and she has no choice other than to stare directly into the flames of his anger. “What did that asshole in a tin can want??” he snarls.

 

“L-l-let go of me!” Six gasps, throwing her arm back.

 

“What did you agree to??”

 

Six closes her eyes and blurts, “He asked me to marry him!”

 

_Gasp!_

 

“HE _WHAT?!?_ ”

 

“He… Lanius?... Well, he...” she stumbles, feeling suddenly foolish. This is not how she wanted to reveal the information but with all eyes upon her, only just sprinting before a tidal wave of disaster, she decides that there is no room to deflect. It is time to be honest."He said that if I didn't want to fight for Nevada, I could marry him and surrender it instead. He challenged me!"

 

The square jumps into action. “Easy, Soldier!” “ _Alta! Controlate!_ ” shout several farmers, jumping in and getting their barrel-sized arms around the little sniper and pulling him back. V and Arcade yank back Six and Cass each.  

 

“NO,” says Lily, picking Boone up by the scruff of his flacks. His feet didn’t leave the ground but he couldn’t get any traction, either. He kicks up fruitless dust until the sound of clapping gets him breaks his rage long enough to growl down at Cass.

 

“You? Marry that asshole? Ha!” she snorts. She pours a shot of whiskey into a blue tin cup from her belt and presses it into Six’s hand. Sotto-voce, she whispers, “I can see that this has been just the _worst_ day for you and I am here to let you know that there are _five more_ of these cinnamon whiskeys in my room--”

 

“Can we focus for just a moment on how every person in this world seems to want to get with Six?” cries Veronica. Her grip on Boone loosens. “Shit, I thought your baby plan was crazy as hell but _obviously_ the universe is determined to prove me wrong! What the hell perfume are you _wearing_ , Six?”

 

“I have no idea!” The crinkle of paper against her chest sparks a thought in her brain and she makes a quick decision. “I had absolutely no clue he was going to say _anything_ like that!”

 

“Wh-what ch-challeng-ge??” choked Boone, still pulling against the locals.

 

“REMEMBER TO BREATHE, HONEY,” Lily laughs, easing her grip on Boone’s shirt.

 

Arcade coughs and adjusts his glasses. “It’s true! The letter you received didn’t mention anything about--”

 

“Wait, what letter?” says Cass, suddenly looking sharp.

 

Six’s heart stops.

 

“L-letter?” she stammers.

 

“Oh, no,” gasps Arcade. “Was that not common knowledge?”

 

There is an ache in her chest and a burn in her throat. She can barely meet Cass’s stare. “I…

 

“What letter, Six?”

 

“I… I got a letter in Latin. I didn’t think anything of it! I mean, the Courier gets weird mail all the time--!”

 

“Cut the shit, _Courier,_ and answer this question,” says Cass. “Who was the letter _from_?”

 

An ugly silence follows.

 

Until…

 

“Legate Lanius.”

 

Veronica’s stands with her arms crossed, looking at a patch of dirt near Lily's feet. She chews her lip and says, “ _That_ was the challenge to a duel from Lanius.”

 

“You knew about this, too? Jesus!” cries Cassidy, accidentally spitting some of her drink. “What the hell is going on in this house? Does _everyone_ else know but me??”

 

“Now, hold on,” says Six, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “I admit, at first, I didn’t want to tell you all because of selfish reasons. I was afraid that you wouldn’t trust me to make responsible decisions if I had this Sword of Damocles almost literally hanging over me--”

 

“Maybe, but you weren’t afraid to tell _all_ of us, were you?” Cass interrupts, “You told Veronica and Arcade just fine; y’know, your friends. I guess the rank-and-file employees are on a ‘need-to-know’ basis.” She takes her next swig from the bottle.

 

Six watches, open-mouthed, and says, “It… it wasn’t like that. I promise! After the tour was over, it would still have been a week until the challenge date; plenty of time to make a plan together. I would have--”

 

Cass spits and shakes her head. “I don’t believe you! Shit has had _plenty_ of time to hit the fan and if you’d wanted us to know, you’d have told us by now! Admit it, Six, you never planned on telling us at all.”

 

“I… I don’t know<” she shrugs. “I guess I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to.”

 

Cass looked at her, then took a gulp from her cup and gestured out the gate. “You said ‘no’, right?”

 

Six opens her mouth but no sound comes out. Did she actually say ‘no’? It _seems_ like the answer she would have given, but she waits too long to answer and Cass’s face sours.

 

“Christ,” she says, draining her cup.

 

“Cass, I’m sorry, I can’t remember! It all happened so fast I--”

 

“No one cares what you think, Caesar-groupie!” Rose of Sharon Cassidy snarls. The punctuation of her clattering tin cup against the hard concrete of the motel strikes as hard as the following silence. She turns on her heel and strides away.

 

Cass disappears through the wall of shoulders and Six can’t even move to stop her. Numbly, she stares into the air where Cass stood. Her pink gingham was in the way before, so she didn’t see… but in the throng of onlookers she sees a pair of clay-red eyes, laser-focused on her flushed face. They stare his question into her heart and her legs go rigid with horror.

 

Again, her sore shoulder is yanked nearly out of its damn socket when Boone grabs her and whips her around. He holds her too close to his face, close enough to count his teeth as he barks, “So you _would_ sell us out!”

 

“No!” she insists, wriggling in his iron grasp.

 

“It’s what you’d be doing. It's not marrying him, it'd be  _enslaving yourself_ to him! You’d have to give him everything, wouldn’t you? You’d belong to him, just a little bitch on his leash!”

 

“Stop it! I wouldn’t marry him to sell us out! How could you say that?” Her eyes burn. There will be bruises on her arms tomorrow. 

 

“So why _would_ you do it, huh? What's the Courier's asking price?”

 

Six breathes in and out through her nose, resisting the urge to close her eyes and break whatever trust Boone still sees in her eyes. This seems like the eleventh hour. This seems like when they need to know where she really stands. They could all be dead tomorrow.

 

Six steels herself and declares, “Boone, I would do _anything_ to save my people.”

 

She feels red eyes on her back.

 

She trips when Boone releases her. When she glances over her shoulder, they're gone. Her people are there, watching her without hiding their stares or lowering their voices… but he isn’t.

 

“Boss! Boss, you gotta hear this.”

 

Raul fights through the crowd, most of whom part much more quickly when realizing the speaker’s mottled, peeling hand is carrying the military

 

Raul hobbles up with the radio:

 

The radio crackled and a new, deeper voice began to speak in a clipped, rhythmic rapport. “ _The following message is for NCR stations located along the Long 15… Every personnel unit is now ordered to their stations as per Operation: Michael Rows the Boat procedure and prepare to process outgoing and incoming traffic at maximum capacity. As instructed in your Operation Guidelines, do not accept travelers from Area 23 (Zion), Area 46 (Mexico), Area 51 (Nevada), or Area 57 (Arizona; subsector Legion Occupied). If resisted, follow protocol as per Section 4 in your emergency directives and use appropriate force. Remember, you are not authorized to answer questions from any civilian regarding the nature of your orders or be subject to special courts-martial. Loose Lips Sink Ships.”_

 

After some incomprehensible numbers, the message repeats, stubbornly using exactly the same words... no matter how they wish it wouldn’t.

 

“That’s… enough, Raul.”

 

“You got it, Boss.”

 

He flips the heavy switch and the tinny voice disappears.

 

“I resign.”

 

“What?” exclaims Arcade. Veronica, clasping her hands together in Boone’s direction, also seems to be shocked.

 

Still, the sniper stands at full attention. He holds his arms at his side and pinches the strap of his rifle so it vertically aligns with his body, just as stiffly as the other soldier she negotiated with today. Like most men, Boone is taller by multiple inches than Six but in this case, it’s a smaller than normal gap. She knows that his stubbled chin will only just clear her black curls if she were to embrace him even now.

 

“Courier Six, I am now presenting notice that I am terminating my services--”

 

“Boone…” begins Arcade.

 

“--as of tomorrow morning. I recognize that I am breaking contract and so, I do not expect the complete pay I would have been owed, but I do believe I am owed one night to gather my things--”

 

“As if that were even…!”

 

“--understanding that I will continue my employment through the night to compensate you. Is this acceptable, Courier?” At attention, when his chin is fixed firmly forward, his eyes can’t meet hers.

 

 _What can I say?_ she thinks. _I can no more agree to let him quit than I can agree to allow the sun to stay up all day!_ She remembers holding Laurie’s purple manicure in hers and tries to be as forgiving as she counseled that woman.

 

“I… I suppose… If it’s what you want,” she says, “Then I accept your resig--”

 

“And I will need my hat back.”

 

Six’s heart beats helplessly against her ribs, crying out for him to look at her and just _see_ the hurt written on her skin. Every inch feels like a throbbing bruise, she must be black and blue… but no. When she wipes her eyes, the back of her hand is brown. Still brown.

 

“Treasurer,” she says, pulling up a little force in her voice. She straightens and points herself towards the square, then says in a ringing tone, “Please see to it that our former employee, Craig Boone, is given 6 months complimentary lodging at the Dino-Dee Lite to give him enough time to secure alternate employment. If he wishes to leave before that time, the remaining days of lodging will be given to him in vouchers that can be redeemed later at the time of his choosing.”

 

“6 months, Six?” stammers Arcade, jotting this down on a little notepad from his white lab coat. He must have taken it back from Veronica at some point because she’s wearing her brown disguise again. The hood shadows her face from the bright sunlight but Six can still see her eyes dart from Boone to her and back.

 

“Additionally, he is to be given the remainder of his contracted salary and 3 months extra pay as a severance bonus. I will see to it personally that he receives the full amount before we leave tomorrow.”

 

If he is impressed by this, Boone doesn’t show it. He still isn’t looking at her.

 

Slowly, she unpins the red felt beret from her head and holds it out. He reaches down to take it but stops when she doesn’t release it to his tug. At the very moment his clear blue eyes show themselves, she says:

 

“It’s the least I can do for the man I trust with my life.”

 

The felt slips from her fingers.

 

He is gone.


	15. THE CHAPTER WHEREIN Boone gets exactly what he wants and Six isn’t too proud to give it to him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six and Boone resolve their plotline. With their crotches. For more details, please see the warning below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Trigger Warning Ahead: Proceed with Caution))
> 
> We’re really taking a left turn with the style on this one and... I think this is going to be the only chapter like this. Writing this took something heavy out of me and as a result, it’s now one of a few chapters where I'm going to post an extra warning. So… warning! This is a somewhat detailed hatefuck from the violent perspective of the physical aggressor who is being crassly manipulated by the mental aggressor. There is some pretty dark grey ambiguity concerning the lines of consent being crossed, here, and if that’s not a picnic you want to attend, I shall not be offended in the slightest if you choose to skip to the next chapter. For that reason, this chapter was written as a self-contained scene with as little plot-relevant material as possible. I only say ‘as little as possible’ due to the nature of serial writing being that one never quite knows what tidbit is going to support the next plot point, but I’m doing my best.
> 
> TL;DR: This scene contains dubious consent, aggressive language, insufficient punctuation, sexual violence, emotional blackmail, un-lubed anal hatefucking, and a red felt hat. Please, proceed at your own discretion. 
> 
> ((End Trigger Warning: Have a Nice Day!))

long. fuckin. day.

 

it’s like… all day, the fuckin motel’s just as awful as i remember. i’m knockin around in this empty-ass room just trying to sit the hell down but everyplace has something fuckin important on it. sure, it’s not much stuff anymore cus i keep leavin’ shit behind places. i’ve still got a gun, a pack, a pair of boots… probably a razor and soap in a bag somewhere. Carla’d want me to have more than just that but… there just isn’t much time for it anymore, baby. all i’ve got now is what’s on my back. even then, it doesn’t seem like a lot.

 

i didn’t go to the house. didn’t want to look. it’s someone else’s now.

 

looking out the curtains, it’s dark and i can't see the dino. i guess i’ve been packing not-that-much-shit all day. drawers are empty, bookshelf is empty… there’s a couple things in the bathroom and my gun’s on the dresser but she’ll go on my back tomorrow so it’s not a problem tonight. just the bathroom and sleep. yea. sleep sounds really good after this fucking day.

 

i get on to it so i’m not even thinking about her when i hear the goddamn knock on the door. i’m thinkin about how they got some new marksman to replace me in the fuckin dino and they seem accurate enough...

 

but it’s not a knock like the others would do. there’s just three little _baps_ and a long wait. after a minute or two, there’s three more little _baps_. you could set a fuckin watch by it. i stand in the head like a moron thinking that maybe if i don’t answer she’ll go away.

 

_bap, bap, bap_

 

_goddamnit._

 

‘Boone, it’s Six,’ she says. like i didn’t know. ‘are you still up?’

 

‘what do you want?’ i say.

 

‘let me in,’ she says. ‘we should talk.’

 

‘no,’ i say. ‘go the fuck to sleep.’

 

_bap, bap, bap_

 

‘fuckin’ what?’ i say.

 

‘Boone, i have something for you.’

 

‘whatever it is, i’m not interested,’ i say.

 

‘it’ll only take a second,’ she says. ‘i’ll step in and out, you won’t even know.’

 

‘what is it?’ i say.

 

‘i’d rather not yell about it on the balcony outside your room all night. just let me in.’

 

‘no.’

 

‘Boone… please?’ she says, ‘i’m asking really, really nicely.’

 

her voice doesn’t sound right. it sounds like instamash with too much water mixed in; somehow too dry and too thin at the same time. i’ve watched her talk to just about every single person in town from the refinery to the clinic to the motel office and out to the ranches all day and now she’s fuckin here, too.

 

_goddamnit._

 

‘fine,’ i say. ‘you’ve got five minutes.’

 

i guess i have to open the door now so i do and she looks like a _tank_. her hair’s all over the place so bad it looks like a hairbrush ambush in the middle of a fuckin sandstorm. her lips are cracked and there’s dark spots under her eyes which means she hasn’t had a drink all day. here she is in the cold-ass desert night wearing a red flannel shirt and jeans with no coat and what’s more her shirt’s unbuttoned halfway down her tits. christ, she’s got nothing else on under that flannel and my heart speeds right the fuck up. can’t even fuckin help it.

 

i’m in the bathroom again right quick and in a hurry so she can close the door her goddamn self.

 

‘thanks.’

 

‘sure.’

 

_click_

 

her boots scuff on the shitty carpet behind me, taking a look around. she shuffles up in front of the bed, then the tv stand, then stops at the other end of the dresser and normally i’d be watching her dick around but staring at her tits isn’t going to make her leave faster, i know that fucking much. i need to get out of this place. any other place. i don’t know if can leave when she’s here, standing right in arm’s reach for once.

 

‘wow,’ she says. ‘you’re pretty much packed already.’

 

‘yea?’ i say. the sink is peeling and there’s just plywood underneath.

 

‘it’s been so long,’ she says, ‘i thought you would have changed your room around or something. make it feel like a home, you know?’ her boots tap together a yard and a half to my 6:00. ‘it looks just like a barracks. is it called a barrack when it’s only one or is it a word like ‘deer’ where the plural is the same as the single? ha.’ her laugh sounds hard.

 

‘yeah, no.’ i don’t look in the rusted-ass mirror cus. i don’t know if she’s looking back. ‘i meant what i said. i’m just staying just for the night and moving out in the morning.’

 

‘well, erm, that’s your choice. obviously. i just wanted you to know that this room is yours whenever you want it - no questions asked. the nice young gentleman who runs the motel now has instructions to hold it for you and to cut you a key as well.’

 

if i think about it, she’s always been like this.

 

‘thanks but no thanks,’ i say. ‘i'm not interested in keeping it.’

 

‘i thought you might feel that way,’ she says and her boots move away. ‘still, it’s here if you ever need it. in case of emergency, you know? maybe you'll be out on the trail or something and for some reason or another you'll need a place to stay...’

 

i buckle up my wash kit. the old scorpion scale is so dinged up that a handle pokes out the corner. ‘ok, fine. the room is mine whenever. much obliged. is there another reason you’re up here?’

 

my bed creaks. ‘yes,’ she says, ‘yes, there’s another reason i’m up here. i, erm, had to cash in a few chips and write you out a check to do it but i have the rest of your contracted salary here. i had to guess at a few of the--’

 

‘i don’t want your money,’ i say.

 

‘--anyone who would honor my contract would be willing to turn out their pockets for it--’

 

‘goddamnit, i’m not taking it!’

 

‘i know,’ she says. my bed creaks again. ‘i know you don’t want to but please, Boone... you might need it.’

 

i’ve got to put my fist in my pocket when she uses that high-and-mighty, mom-knows-best, smug _fuckin_ voice but i have to put my kit away or i might punch the sink out of the wall. seeing as there's no way to wrestle something good out of a situation after that, i turn and finally look at her.

 

there she is.

 

she’s still Six. Six is sitting on the foot of my bed, holding herself like a goddamn kicked puppy. i can’t help but stare. the girl looks like a goddamn feral tragedy but guess i really don’t know what i was expecting to see. it’s still her. she’s still got her same hands, her same face, her same weird, tight way of sitting right at the edge of everything. only thing i forgot was how little she actually is when she isn’t at the other end of a scope. there's a long piece of paper in one of her hands.

 

‘Boone, listen,’ she says, still lookin down at the shit-brown carpet. ‘you must have heard the radio broadcast by now, right? all of the troops moving towards the colorado. i mean, forget the mojave united… even just new vegas; it could all be over any minute now! and... well, you just might need every single cap you’ve got to get a ticket over the border. i know you don’t want any help from me and i completely understand but please don’t turn down a safety net just because i’m the one giving it to you!’

 

she goes to put the check on the bedside table but i get in the way in two steps.

 

‘you don’t know what i need,’ i say, lookin down at her. ‘you don’t know a goddamn thing. if you leave that shit here, i’m going to use it for cigarette paper and nothing else. keep your fuckin money and buy yourself a red toga.’

 

‘excuse me!?’

 

it’s not exactly what i meant to say but the way she just looks up at me right then… _wham_. her eyes hit me like a ton of bricks and i lose all control of my mouth.

 

‘i’m out there day in, day out watchin’ your fuckin’ back,' i'm yelling, 'covering your tracks, and going every goddamn place in the world you want to go when you’re out there, makin deals with those fuckin monsters and then you think you can come in here and tell me how to get the fuck over it!? it’s just like… you think everyone needs to listen to you, the sainted courier, about how to live their own shitty fuckin lives sometimes, no matter what they or anyone else wants!’

 

‘i do _not_ tell people how to live their lives!’ she’s standing up now. cute. she’s only as tall as my chest and it does not look intimidating, even with the moon lighting up her face like the Ultra-Luxe.

 

‘yeah, you do,’ i say. ‘you come through all these little places with your big ideas and make them believe everything is gonna get better if we all just try a little harder and work together like one big, happy family. come on, Six. deep down, you know they really don’t know any better. they’re just lookin for the next mob boss to hitch their wagon to.’

 

her eyes flash like sun off the flat desert sand. i stand up a little taller while she says, ‘what an outrageous--’

 

‘Six,’ i say, taking her shoulders and pressing down. ‘stop trying to fix what ain’t yours to fix.’

 

she sits. she isn’t looking at me anymore, seems to have lost her voice for once which makes me feel good. on the other hand, she sat straight down underneath me with that loose fuckin flannel and my pop up thermometer has something to say about what’s heating up now. it’s getting hard to think straight.

 

‘what about all those guys you wanna make your ‘dads’, huh?' i say, picking something out of the air. 'did they want to become the saviors of the wasteland, all of them?

 

‘i... i…’ she doesn’t look up. ‘i don’t know what you mean.’

 

‘did you let any of those sorry bastards choose to start a cult with you or did you hide everything about it from them in case they said, ‘no’?’

 

‘i never… i wouldn’t…’

 

‘didn’t think so. i’ve only watched you fuck your way across nevada, always right behind you in case one of them gets handsy with a knife or some shit. even that khan asshole…’

 

she twists in my hands. ‘you… y-you leave him out of this!’

 

‘how could i miss it? you made him fuck you right there on the sniper’s nest, didn’t you? guess you had to see it up close and personal.’

 

now she’s glaring at me with her heavy brown eyes all narrow and red. her mouth goes sharp the same as her eyes and the whole innocent look makes me want to shatter her with a bite. i want to take her over my knee and see her cry. i used to hold her down and make her beg the way no other man she’s fucked can. i still remember what it sounds like.

 

‘why…?’ she says in pieces. ‘how did you…? i mean--’

 

‘yea, yea, i watched everything like a good pet. your own pet sniper, sittin around smokin a crate of cigs waiting for you to finish knocking boots with some dirty fuckin tribal on the goddamn rocks. and he’s a drug runner to boot. real fuckin winner, there.’

 

‘oh, i’m sorry!’ she spits, finally throwing me off and scampering away to the other end of the bed. ‘did you want a turn? feeling left out by the genetic lottery, i see.’

 

that's not what i meant at all. ‘don’t you fuckin’ start--!’

 

‘you should have told me you wanted to be the representative from the home team! or were you hoping to submit an application for the NCR, instead?’

 

‘fuck, you never really gave a guy a chance, did you?’ i didn't mean that, either, and i look quick out the window.

 

even then she watches me for a long time, thinking. her hand doesn’t move but it’s like i can feel it anyway. the way she used to press her fingers to my lips. she’d pull my chin down to kiss her, so i’d pick her up and throw her on the bed... she used to touch me all over, then.

 

‘is that what this is about?’ she says.

 

‘no,’ i say. i walk past her back towards the sink. it’s not why i’m mad, it’s really not.

 

‘so... what is it about, Boone?’

 

‘look,’ i say, ‘just drop it, alright?’

 

‘you can’t lead with something like that and just expect me to drop it! there's got to be more. what’s really going on, here?'

 

i grab the flimsy counter. ‘nothing. nothing is going on,' i say, hard and clear, but her mind is already goin by leaps and bounds.

 

‘you were watching us,’ she says.

 

‘obviously. weren’t you listening?’

 

she shakes her head and says, ‘no, not like my bodyguard. that’s why you missed your shot... isn’t it? me and anders. we were almost...’

 

 _creeeeak._ she’s stands up from the bed now, coming closer.

 

‘no,’ i say. ‘not you and anders.’ his name makes my knuckles go white all the same.

 

‘the king?’

 

‘no!’

 

she’s close enough to breathe on me. i feel it hot and moist through my t-shirt. ‘cliff?’ she whispers.

 

'no,' i say again. ‘anyway, why should you care?

 

'what's this really all about?'

 

i look down at the plywood. it's funny, really. she's supposed to be the smart one and i'm the shot jock.

 

‘you and i, back in the beginning,' i say, 'you never used to say that we _were_ anything.’

 

‘in the beginning? you mean when we first met? yea, but,’ she shrugs. ‘we weren’t anything.’

 

before i can do anything, i catch her eyes in the rusty mirror.

 

‘wait...’ her eyes are glued to my face and i guess i don't look away fast enough. she sees on me the answer she was looking for. ‘you... you told me we were never going to be anything. you said it loud and clear!’

 

getting through any kind of talk with this woman is unbelievable. before she can get close enough to do something i say, ‘yea, well, i hope you also remember _why_ i said what i did back then.’

 

she leans away. i breathe again.

 

‘remind me,’ she says.

 

‘we had so long,’ i say, hearing the same words bounce off the same walls, ‘and you didn’t do anything. we were fuckin’ back then. we were fuckin like jackalopes all that year and you never said we _were_ anything. not partners, not boyfriend and girlfriends, hell i don’t even think you called us friends, even.'

 

‘so... it’s true,’ she says slowly. ‘everyone tried to tell me but i told them to fuck off because you had told me so _thoroughly_ that we couldn’t be together… and they were right! you wanted to be something all along and i told you it would never work out because you worked for me and it was too complicated--’

 

‘yea, well, you’re not my boss anymore, _courier,_ ’ i say.

 

that one hurts. she sucks air through her teeth and her little sock feet tap-tap-tap away. i guess she took off her boots somewhere.

 

‘...you’re right,’ she says. ‘i’m not your boss anymore.’

 

i thought when she finally said that, it’d sound a little different.

 

i turn on the sink and splash a little cold water on my face. 

 

‘let me make it up to you,’ she says.

 

‘what?’ i say, taking a step back so i can see her again.

 

this is like a nightmare. she’s got black smudges all around her eyes, her flannel is still open to show off her tits with _nothing_ on underneath, and her big eyes are read and wet almost with tears. i don’t know if i’m mad because she looks like a gamorrah gutter slut begging for a fix by sucking dick or if it’s because even though i never wanted her here in the first place, the thought of putting my mouth on those tits makes me wish i’d hit that sonuvabitch in the junk instead of the arm.

 

she slides closer, almost right off the edge of my bed. ‘i said let me make it up to you. i was an asshole back then but it’s in my court to do something to make it right.’ she stands.

 

‘i already said i don’t want your money,’ i say, turning away but still catching a glimpse of her in the mirror. she’s close and staring at me. there’s no paper in her hand anymore.

 

‘no, not with that,’ she says with her sugar sweet mouth. ‘that money is already yours. i was thinking of… something else.’

 

and goddamnit if i don’t watch her unbutton that flannel. i’m watching her take out those warm caramel tits so full and round they fit a man’s whole hand. her nipples are already hard with cold, rolling their points with little flicks of her thumbs. she knows how to get me goin so bad. i have to look away.

 

‘Boone,’ she says, right up beside me and pressing her hard nipples into my back.

 

‘no, Six,’ i say. or i try to say. it don’t sound right but i know i made some kind of noise. her hands are right on my belt, the last thing keeping me sane right now and she’s fiddling with the buckle but she’s got to stop now or i can’t help it.

 

i back up thinkin it will stop her maybe, like, pushing her away or something. she doesn’t back up with me, though, she steps around and under my arm and now her whole body is squished between me and the bathroom counter. there’s no way she can’t feel how goddamn turned on i am by her nonsense.

 

this can’t be happening. this is supposed to be some _thing_ i made up to get myself through the long watches and sleepless nights. this was never supposed to happen in real life… but here i am.

 

and there she is.

 

she’s short but i know how much muscle is in. she hops right on up using those thick brown thighs of hers and gets her ass just barely on the sink. in just a moment, she wriggles right in front of me, like, she gets her knees on either side of mine because i actually kind of want to know if she’s for real or not. it’s been so long since i’ve been laid, i might even be willing to let her have it right here, right now. thank god for wide belts.

 

 _thank god damnit_.

 

because it’s real. next thing i know, i feel her sweet mouth on mine, biting and licking with the kind of sluttiness i could only imagine in boot camp. she’s a wild cougar tonight, diggin’ her nails into me deep enough to sting. i can feel her ankles knocking into my back but all i have time to do is get my hand down to her pants before she pushes hard against my chest.

 

sure, i back up again but this time i get my belt off and my dick is all hands on deck at that point. she’s grabbing the buttons of her flannel, swearing quietly while she does it in a growly whisper that sends shivers across my sight but i’m not here to wait. i run my two hands up her stomach, and get the fuckin flannel off right quick.

 

there they are, soft and warm enough for a man to taste days later. her skin is smooth and pebbled in different places and it’s amazing to suck her with little nips everywhere to find out how each piece of her feels. she gasps when i do, rocking her hips against my jeans, teasing me with her wet heat.

 

‘you remember how i like it…’ she moans, ‘oh boone, you feel so good…’

 

she does it because she knows it gets a rise out of me but joke’s on her i’ve been harder than an iron barrel since she sat on the edge of my goddamn bed.

 

i grab her waist and hold her against me so she can shimmy out of those tight jeans of hers just far enough to get my dick up between her legs. she’s still stuck together by denim at the ankle but she throws her feet over one of my shoulders like the good whore she used to be and leans back so i can slide my magazine right in her chamber.

 

she’s hot and tight, getting wet for me as long as i’ve been hard for her. i press her down on the counter to get every inch of my cock in her tight little pussy. her hands lock onto the edge of the peeling plywood so her knees can stretch to her chest. i fill her up so much her juice leaks down the front of my legs and onto the shitty carpet underneath. her muscles squeeze around me so hard i get worried it’s been too long for me and pull out a little.

 

‘boone,’ she says, having to squint from the bathroom light, ‘oh, please don’t stop… it feels amazing…’

 

‘slow down a little,’ i say. one of my legs is already cramping from fucking her on my goddamn tiptoes. ‘not everything happens on a schedule.’

 

her brown eyes gaze up at me from around her own calves and goddamn if it doesn’t calm me right down. i keep lookin down at Six and she keeps lookin up at me and i ease my dick back in her, findin a fuckin rhythm.

 

i get close again a few minutes later when she grits back a yelp, crying out ‘ow ow ow,’ and shaking so bad it almost pulls me down with it. i get the pot off the fire just in time and lean down between her jiggling thighs and get a look at the situation.

 

her lips look darker brown in this light, swollen and glistening around a bright pink knob of extra smooth skin. i breathe on her just a little to give her the shock she likes and after she laughs, i press my mouth to her slit.

 

up and down i lick using a flat tongue. she likes it slow like this at first, telling me with her long, slow sighs. i lick figure eights when her thighs press against my ears with her whining encouragement saying ‘yeah’ and ‘oh, please’ because she’s trying to get her whole cunt in my mouth at once and i’m not lettin her. she doesn’t know it but she likes it better when she has to wait.

 

‘yea,’ she says above me, ‘like that… oh, yea...’

 

like clockwork, i have to reach up and hold her thighs or she’ll suffocate me without even trying, meanwhile i’m changing it up between nibbling her lips apart with my teeth until she cries and rubbing my nose back and forth right under her pearl but not letting her do anything about it.

 

‘Boone, i need you inside me… please, i can’t… just fuck me already…’ she says.

 

that’s when i lean down and put my whole tongue inside her. she rides that feeling of rough muscle religiously, calling on jesus, god, mary, joseph, and most of the other big names. when she’s just about run out of names, i let go one of her legs and find her ass with my thumb. like everything else in this bathroom tonight, it is wet and the tip of my thumb slides in just enough to make her explode.

 

‘oh, oh, ooooooooh,’ she groans, clenching and unclenching around my mouth hard enough to shake the plywood counter. i shift my knees to hold us up in case it gives way.

 

it stays up and she comes down off her high, drooping lower and lower until her legs are heavy on my shoulders. her pussy still twitches every now and again but i decide to be good and not tease her more. it’s a little bit because i’m feeling nice for no particular reason and a little bit because i like the noises she makes when you fuck her after her first orgasm.

 

i untangle us and unroll her jeans off her feet so she can sit normal. she’s all naked and covered with sweat from the orgasm i just made her have and i feel a sticky bead of cum trickle down my shaft. shit, how did my balls get wet already? i was only inside her for, like, 5 seconds.

 

oh well. i was planning on getting back in the pool soon anyway.

 

she’s boneless like a cat right now, so it’s pretty easy to pick her up and carry her to the bed. i set her down towards the middle and back up enough to take my pants off the rest of the way. we’ve made the room warm already and i’m looking forward to doing it some more.

 

Six is laying on my bed, resting her arm on one of my pillows so it props up her head to watch me. light falls in bright shapes on the blankets and her skin. she looks both more and less real for it. i crawl up beside her and touch her side to make sure she’s still here.

 

‘what are you waiting for?’ she says in a husky whisper. her lips turn up smartly at the corner. ‘i hope you’re not done yet.’

 

‘you know i’m not,’ i say. ‘all you need to do is open those pearly gates of yours and let me onto your cloud 9.’ so what? i read it on the back of an ad once and it used to make her laugh.

 

she rolls her eyes and firmly presses her legs closed. ‘why don’t you make me if you want it so badly?’

 

cute, but ultimately a mistake. i reach under her locked knees and tease the curve of swollen lips exposed between her beautiful ass cheeks. she giggles and turns away.

 

i can’t help it. it makes me smile. she makes me smile.

 

‘little pig, little pig, let me come in,’ i say, tracing her slit.

 

‘not by the hair on my chinny-chin-chin,’ she squeals, pressing her ass back against me and rubbing my aching dick right between her cheeks playing a character i know from the short skirt she’d wear. the memory makes a dangerous shiver rock my cock and i make a decision.

 

this has gone on long enough.

 

first, i twitch the curtains closed and throw my shades on the nightstand. next, i flip my girl onto her back and grab her knees in my hands. her giggles turn into a whimper nipped off with little teeth biting her own red lip. i don’t even know if she’s trying to fight me but either way i pull her legs open and kneel right there inside them.

 

Six tries to shut her eyes before i enter her again. i don’t, though. i rub my head against her tight hole without going past even an inch to make her eyes open wide with want. when i see the glitter of brown, that’s when i grab her chin to make her look right at me and _press_ myself into her. i look at her while i fill her up from tip to base, then rock my hips to make her whimper every time i rub against a good spot.

 

then, only after getting my noise, i pull myself back out of her and let her close her eyes. when she opens them again, i start the circle again. i press all the way into her. i roll my hips to make her moan. i pull out and let her breathe. soon, she keeps her eyes open and i roll my hips again and again, feeling her relax and squeeze me with faster and faster urgency even though i still stop when she has to blink.

 

she rocks her hips in little circles. ‘faster... faster…’ she says.

 

i don’t go faster. her hands grab my shoulders and tryin to push against me for leverage, but she can’t make me budge. this is a moment i plan to hold on to for a long time.

 

i pull out extra slowly.

 

‘what do you say,’ i ask. if it’s real she won’t know what to say. only the Six in my mind would know how to answer.

 

or a Six who’d been with the coyote.

 

‘what,’ she whimpers. her eyes are closed again, goddamnit.

 

i hold her chin until they open and repeat myself.

 

‘what do i say?’ she says, breathlessly. ‘like what, please? please! please, Boone, go faster! oh, christ, please...’

 

it’s real.

 

in that case, i don’t hold back.

 

i slam her back against the creaky mattress and puck her until its springs squeal. she’s crying out for anything at that point, to speed up, to slow down, everything until...

 

‘boone!’ she yells, clutching my arm so hard she scratches out some blood. ‘boone, cum in me… you can be a father, then… please, cum in me!’

 

‘Fuckin What?!’

 

…

 

…

 

…

 

i’ve long stopped. under me, she’s staring with crinkled eyebrows. ‘i don’t understand,’ she says, ‘i thought that’s what you wanted.’

 

that’s what she thought i wanted.

 

fuck this shit.

 

fuck her and her resolution or whatever.

 

i pull out and grab her ankles while i stand up.

 

'wait, what are you --!'

 

over she goes, knees right on the long edge of the bed so her ass is sticking up. i put it right against her backdoor and she makes that noise again, like a dog whining. she hates it. i know that. i don’t give a fuck. do it again bitch. i wanna hear it loud and fast. she whines again, that high choking cry. my dick hears it too and stretches her with its need.

 

her arm’s across her back, so i lean on her and open her up. the first thrust is always the hardest, rubbing something fierce. it burns and scrapes all the way in. she shakes and moans just like she did back then. her ass is just as tight, too. for once, she's quiet underneath me but she squeals when i make it jump inside her. always moving, that mouth of hers.

 

i pull out.

 

the second thrust is easier, she's already stretched for me. and the third. and the next i grab her arm to help pull her back against me, lifting her up.

 

she’s tearing up the covers, throwing pillows over the edge of the bed and shit with her one free arm, but she can’t slow me down. i make that bitch bite her own lip open. i fuck her hard enough that if this shit hole motel bed had a headboard, it’d be broken on the wall, now. she’s never felt so good, face pressed on the bare mattress, knees just as wide as she can hold ‘em. i get her little pink ring right up to my nuts. maybe her asshole boyfriend across the river can hear how deep i can get in his girl.

 

‘you’re hurting me, you're hurtning me…’ she moans, ‘oh, hurt me… make it hurt, Boone...’

 

if i’d heard that a year ago, it would have been everything. i reach around her shaking hip and press my finger right on the little man in the boat. she’s so slick he can barely stay in and my finger gets slippery right away but she’s making a new sound now…

 

‘please please please…’ it’s a whisper, repeated through her dark-bitten lips. ‘please…’

 

well, she did ask nicely.

 

i grab her whole cunt in my hand and use it to pull her hard against my dick which sends her over the fuckin edge. i feel her shudder around me in unbelievable waves, all the while crying out and throwing her juice all over the sheets with sloppy spasms. she can’t even curse in words anymore, she’s just slurring together random sounds from either pain or cumming but the while sexy picture does something for me enough to jam myself into her once more and fill that dark little asshole until my jizz leaks out. she moans and wriggles under me but i just hold her against me until i’m finished squirting baby seeds into her back nine and my fingers on her clit are too slick to make her shudder and twitch anymore.

 

‘you’re crushing me,’ she whines, flexing her ass around my twitching cock.

 

‘do something about it,’ i say, finally limp enough to fall out of her. shit, it’s like uncapping a nuka cola. jizz and another pink stained liquid rush out of her backside until the sheets smell dark with our mess.

 

i twitch the curtains open again so i can see her lie curled up on my bed, still dripping all down her thighs. her twitching is over and her ribs are rising and falling evenly. it’s not like her to go to sleep so soon after. i grab a pack of smokes out of my pants from the floor and light one.

 

‘cig?’ i say, holding it out to her.

 

‘it would be bad for a baby,’ she says.

 

‘suit yourself.’

 

then, she moves enough to sit up. i just see dark, moonlit hair when she says, ‘your check is on the dresser. don’t worry... i can see myself out.’

 

i don’t stop her. she puts her flannel and jeans back on, looks on the hook by the window, and then opens the door. a snap of cold rushes in, cutting through the funk of our sex.

 

‘good luck, ok?’

 

‘yea. if you say so.’

 

then she closes the door without showing me with those eyes any more. those heavy, brown, hopeless eyes.


	16. THE CHAPTER WHEREIN The Yellow Brick Road is Red, The Blue Moon is White, and to all the Little Children in Nevada Tonight… Goodnight, New Vegas, Goodnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End is Nigh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back. That certainly was a preceding chapter, yes, indeed. I appreciate your comments and kudos. Your support really helps me stay connected, thank you.
> 
> In unrelated news, my computer is tired of opening this huge-ass document. Despite the overwhelming number of pages I’ve posted, GoogleDocs is still like, ‘eeeehhhhhhhnnnngg’ whenever I want to write because there’s still, like 69 pages of outline. Goddamn. I checked.

Here’s how the next day went:

 

In the morning, Six, Lily, Arcade, Raul, Jerry, Veronica, and Cass gathered to leave in Dino Square. Their hope was to travel to Hidden Valley and talk with the Brotherhood about formally joining the Mojave United. It was a moderately risky plan that relied heavily upon leveraging Veronica’s good credit to get them past the gates but so far, most of the team was present and willing to try, even after yesterday’s ugliness.

 

Most.

 

Boone, obviously, wasn’t. Six, who arrived long before the sun rose, didn’t even glance up at his window. She made herself walk by and sit on a bench that faced away from the Dino Dee-Lite altogether, wrapped in her warm leather coat against the cold.

 

Cass arrived later, when the sun had just peeked over the eastern mountaintops enough to send little rays of sun shooting through the clouds. She slouched onto a bench without looking up from the stone path, sipped dark liquid from a pint glass, and promptly fell asleep. Her fermented perfume wasn’t quite blown away by the early breeze.

 

Veronica arrived fully suited more or less at dawn and shortly thereafter Lily, Arcade, and Jerry all from the direction of the Novac Followers Primary Care tent. They were accompanied by a handful of young people in scrubs who earnestly asked questions and swapped anatomy manuals. Veronica greeted Six with a light pat on the back and a ‘hope you slept’, which Six returned.

 

“It didn’t go well, I take it?” V whispered, no doubt wary of the very tiny possibility that Cass could be eavesdropping through her own monstrous snoring. She sounded like a badly oiled wood chipper in a cute hat.

 

“I don’t think there _was_ a way for it to go well,” rasped Six, massaging her throat. ‘Let’s go over the route instead… if you don’t mind.”

 

“Sure,” said V, graciously dropping the matter entirely.

 

Arcade and Jerry presently disentangled themselves from the cluster of Followers interns and joined the others on the decorative flagstone patio. Arcade’s leather briefcase was slung over his shoulder but Jerry had arrived empty-handed this morning. So, too, Six noticed that he had traded his usual black overalls for a set of clean cotton scrubs and his long black hair had been braided back, away from his face. Now his smile included both eyes.

 

“I’ve decided to stay,” he said. “The Followers are looking for new members, I guess, and Tyler offered me a job as a medical intern. He said that my writing is good enough to become a researcher someday so… yeah. I thought it’d be a good idea.” He looked up at Lily. “Do you think it’s a good idea?”

 

“IF IT’S IS WHAT YOU WANT, SWEETHEART, THEN IT’S A GOOD IDEA,” she answered, gently laying an enormous hand across his shoulders. “YOUR GRANDMA JUST WANTS HER BABY TO BE HAPPY.”

 

Six caught the flick of Jerry’s eyes towards the medical tent. Discreetly, she followed his gaze to spy a handsome young man with shining, wiry red hair. He was talking animatedly to another doctor and gesturing with a pen as though writing in the air with huge, looping letters but stopped to shoot her a warm smile and a two-finger wave. Six returned it and looked back at Jerry.

 

“Yeah,” he said, turning pink. “I like writing.”

 

“Then, I think you should go for it,” said Six. “If you ever need anything from us, you should feel free to ask. You’re welcome at the Lucky 38 anytime.”

 

“Yeah? Yeah! All right!”

 

“GIVE GRANDMA A KISS!”

 

Veronica and Cass both shook the new intern’s hand with congratulations and wishes for luck meanwhile Arcade became quite fascinated by a barrel cactus. Its flowers were all wrinkled and brown but he stared down at it with his hands in his lab coat pockets until Jerry approached him with an outstretched hand.

 

“Hey, Arcade,” said Jerry, “Um… thanks.”

 

The doctor looked surprised. “What for?”

 

Jerry shrugged. “For helping.”

 

Arcade looked at the young man’s hand for a long moment but finally took it with a nod. “If I helped, then… you’re welcome. And, thank you, too. I think you’re going to do very well with the Followers.”

 

“Is everyone ready?” said Veronica, bouncing on her heels. Her chest plate rattled like a cymbal. “We can make it to Hidden Valley by lunch if we get a move on! Let’s go!”

 

“Hold on, now,” said Six, stretching her aching knees. “We’re still missing someone.”

 

“HERE HE COMES,” said Lily.

 

Raul hobbled toward them on the road from the new foundry. He arrived and immediately made a beeline for Courier Six.

 

“Boss, boss…” he rasped. “You gotta hear the radio.”

 

So far on their trip, such a phrase had not yet signaled a good development, so if the team was nervous to hear Raul say those words, they could hopefully be forgiven for it. He turned up the volume and the radio said:

 

_“Get back! Get back! Don’t worry ((huff)) the next squad is only two hours away. We can hold here until then! The supplies in the back of the saloon are supposed to last for two wee--”_

 

_“Lookout, Corporal!”_

 

_KABOOOM!!_

 

_-click-_

 

_“This message is set to repeat.”_

 

_“Get back! Get back! Don’t worry…”_

 

Raul turned the volume back down and told them it had come from Boulder City not even an hour ago. He had been packing up in the old launch bay when the radio suddenly came to life, repeating that message over and over.

 

“I guess this means we might be going back to the City sooner than expected,” said Cass, irritated by her hangover. “We can’t go on a party tour while the Legion is on the doorstep of Vegas so either we go back to the city and help there, or fuck off a different direction altogether and stay out of Caesar's way."

 

“I don’t know. Boulder City is pretty far north of where we’re going so it might be safer to go to Hidden Valley.” said Veronica, wanting to be practical, “Anybody would use the 93 to get up to Camp Golf, away from us. They’re expecting us and they’ll for sure let us stay with them if worse comes to worst.”

 

“It’s irradiated like _crazy_ over there! And it’s all bouldering over those _awful_ volcanic rocks. We'd be sitting ducks for Legion snipers,” said Arcade, thinking of the trouble. “Surely the wisest thing to do is stay put until we learn more information?”

 

Everyone looked at Six.

 

She looked back at her friends, running her fingers through her tangled hair to see them all at once. Even after all this, after all of the mistakes she had made, after how hard she’d pushed them all… her people were counting on her and yet she felt pulled in every direction so urgently her heart wanted to slice itself into pieces to make them all happy. Her eyes looked over the wall, past the rocky mountains wherein the lights of Vegas would still be shining brightly in the last shadow of night, and felt pulled there just as strongly, just as sweetly as to the others. She wanted to go home. Six summoned her courage to make a decision.

 

 

“Boss,” said Raul, quietly handing her the canvas satchel, “you should take the radio and get to Hidden Valley by yourselves. I am old and my knees will slow you down over the mountain but you all are young and maybe you can help us all from underground.”

 

“But Raul,” said Six, “what are you doing to do if you stay?”

 

He grinned. “I will do what I always do, fix machines and break hearts. It’s the end of the world,” said the old vaquero, “And you’ve got work to do.”

 

Just when she was sure her world couldn’t shatter any further, Six accepted the radio and hugged him close. “Okay, we’ll bargain with the Brotherhood to stay in their bunker while you stay here. To avoid the invading army we’ll take the back way around Black Mountain.”

 

They all hugged him one last time and then Lily, Cass, Veronica, Arcade, and Courier Six shouldered their packs and walked out the western gate towards Hidden Valley.

 

xXx

 

The team reached the chain link fence when the sun was beating down upon the rocks enough to feel like a kiln. In the bearable shade of their hats, the team scrabbled along the Brotherhood's boundary path until they found the back gate stretching across the main road into the valley. All this time, they had been skirting north-west hoping to avoid notice by traveling parallel to any Roman troops fresh from the attack but soon, they would be able to break away south and follow a winding trail to the windy valley on the other side. Their boots crunched on the sandy path but Veronica stopped them outside the swinging metal gate and recommended that they stop to rest.

 

So, they made themselves a quick lunch of cold chipped cram and hot pork n’ beans on toast and chose their seats from among the rough, dark rocks. Right there on the side of the road was the best place to see the city’s cascades of neon. A red flame flashes at Gomorrah. A sparkling white mist of water is the Ultra-Luxe fountain. Several other signs were gap-toothed with missing light bulbs. The Atomic Wrangler, the Vault 21 Motel, there’s even a little dark spot at the NCR embassy who consistently refused a complimentary design from their across-the-street neighbor, Michael Angelo. Above it all, the Lucky 38 seemed a dignified flame among the embers of much shorter casinos; a light at the end of the tunnel more real than any calendar or to-do list could hope to be.

 

They watched the glamorous lights of New Vegas for quite some time, finally blinking their eyes when a little grey cloud rolled in front of the hot sun. Someone threw dirt on the fire. Someone else moved the rocks they sat on to hide their tracks. Six scoured out the pot and wrapped it in a bag to store in her pack.

 

One moment, everyone was ready and Veronica popped the lock off the gate...

 

...the next, every ray of light went cold.

 

At first, they thought that another cloud had blocked the sun… until the sound of a great sigh crawled over their skins. Immediately, the team looked at one another thinking, ‘What could possibly have happened? The sky is bright with daylight but it feels and smells like a terrible storm!’

 

To their horror, there was only one place to see the answer: New Vegas. One by one, they turned their heads south to realize that every flashing neon light in the entire city was dark and the barely audible noise of a great, panicked commotion crackled high through the air. Or perhaps it was a befuddling burst of sand in their collective ears. New Vegas was  _much_ too far to be audible... right? 

 

Besides, blackouts were nothing new. Power failures just like this had become scarce since Raul had approved some robust backup generators for the city but before their negotiations at Helios One last year, it had been a frustratingly common occurrence. Perhaps it was a blackout, they hoped, just a blackout and everything would be right again in the blink of an eye...

 

...for the other possibility might too terrible to consider.

 

“Check the radio,” whispered Cass.

 

So they did, turning it to every single station in Nevada but hearing only silence. The NCR channels were absent of chatter and even reliable Mr. New Vegas had nothing to say about the situation. His frequency crackled absently with static no matter how they turned the dial and twisted the antennae. Accepting defeat, the last members of the Mojave United had a quick conference.

 

“Based on the message Raul gave us this morning, I think we have to assume the worst,” said Courier Six. “If the city has fallen, then Caesar’s men are going to seal it up or burn it down within an hour of conquering it and we shouldn't be anywhere near if we want to keep our arms and legs to ourselves. Veronica, would the Brotherhood’s doors still be open to an exiled Scribe, a Nightkin, and three refugees from a Legion controlled city?”

 

“I love my family and I hope they would but I can’t guarantee a favor that big,” said Veronica Santangelo. “If we walk all that way and they say ‘no’ we might lose any opportunity we could have to get back into the city. Cass, do you think we have enough time to do that and still get to safety if we fail?”

 

The caravaneer drew a quick map in the dirt. “The way I see it, there are three destinations we can get reach today,” said Rose of Sharon Cassidy, “New Vegas, Hidden Valley, and Nellis Air Force Base. New Vegas is the most dangerous and we would have to drop everything to get there _now_ before the gates close. If we go quickly to Hidden Valley and back, it would only take about an hour and a half which is short enough for there to still be daylight to go someplace else. Arcade, would that be physically possible in our current condition?”

 

“To tell you the truth, right now, we’re in the least advantageous physical condition we could possibly be,” said Dr. Arcade Gannon. “We’ve traveled enormous distances at breakneck speed for a week and a half, not to mention that we’ve already been hiking on less-than-adequate sleep all morning. I’m concerned that if we go to Hidden Valley and then have to continue to a secondary location, we could be easily overpowered by anyone. We are possibly the most-wanted people in all of Nevada.”

 

That made them all very quiet. Except for Lily.

 

“SWEETHEART,” she said, “I THINK YOUR GRANDMA… IS GOING TO STAY.”

 

“Stay? Here?” said Arcade. “There’s no one else here on Black Mountain, Lily. The village was evacuated ages ago.”

 

“NO, I’M NOT GOING TO STAY HERE. I’M GOING TO GO STAY IN NOVAC WITH JERRY. MY BABY MIGHT NEED HELP SOON AND I… WOULD LIKE TO BE CLOSE.”

 

Cass looked at Veronica. Veronica looked at Arcade. Arcade looked at Six. Six looked at the Lucky 38. In a few day’s time, the charter of the Mojave United should have been signed by every tribe in the valley. Together, she and her friends would have presented a complete governmental organization followed by celebrating, drinking, and fellowship with everyone they had ever known and now... now. Six hoped she could do the right thing.

 

“I think you should go,” she said. “You take care of each other and stay safe, okay?”

 

“OF COURSE, DEAR,” said Grandma.”GIVE US A KISS FOR LUCK!”

 

Everyone joined together to give Lily an enormous hug goodbye. She shuddered hugely and made a noise like a honking brahmin. When they finally released her, she sprinted back the way they had come, southeast along the fence.

 

Veronica and Arcade and Six and Cass turned to look at the dim casinos. “What should we do?” asked Six.

 

“We… we should keep going,” said Veronica, “but not to Hidden Valley. I think Cass is right. By the time we get there and back, it will be too late to go back to the city. Instead, I think we should go the other way, sneak behind enemy lines in Boulder City, and get to Nellis before dark.”

 

She explained that, logically, the army of Legionaries would have marched on to the city of Vegas by now and, if the darkness to the northeast were any indication, Boulder City stood empty below them. With only a little luck and some careful movement, they could sprint north along the coast road the whole way, avoiding either side's notice. The road itself was low enough elevation that they would be partially hidden by the rocky ridge sloping down to the water, then even later they would be hidden by night. Ideally, they would be able to regroup among a big family of hardy fighters with lots of rocket power and itchy trigger fingers to decide what to do from there.

 

"How long will that take?" asked Cass.

 

Veronica tapped on her power armor’s calculator for a moment and predicted that it would take almost nine hours if they walked without stopping. It was risky, no doubt, even if a better strategic location waited at the other end but the other options took them no closer to both safety and better positioning.

 

“The Followers gave me some supplies before we left,” said Arcade. “We used the last of our Psycho getting to the Mojave Outpost, I know, so I requested some extra in Novac. They gave me two syringes, enough for a couple of hours if we divide it up well.”

 

“Good thinking,” said Six, “but we should save them for an emergency. We don’t know what we’ll find in Boulder.”

 

Dr. Arcade also insisted that they start a schedule of stretch and water breaks. “Let’s not have a repeat of Primm to Nipton,” he said, pulling on his foot to loosen his hamstring. "I could hardly walk all the next day!"

 

“No, indeed,” said Veronica, locking the gate behind her. “We don’t want that.”

 

xXx

 

Boulder City greeted them first with the low-hanging smell of burning wood, rotting flesh, and cold, spent gunpowder. As the stench thickened in their nostrils, the road became gritty brown with the sand from a hundred pairs of hobnailed boots, then rusty red and clumpy with gobbets of hair and skin, and finally, the entire stretch of asphalt became a dark brown carpet of sticky, stinking gore.

 

Dozens of corpses lay hacked open and messy all down the short main street; NCR soldiers, Legionaries, and Mojave citizens in equal measure. Many bodies sported javelins, some lie tangled together with their throats cut. A few bodies, women mostly, had had armor stripped from their bodies and the exposed skin was mottled with wounds, dirt, blood, and several more disgusting fluids. Like a grisly period on the story of Boulder City, a noisy flock of carrion birds rested their weary claws on the plentiful perches and gleefully pecked off treats.

 

Suppressing a gag, Six pulled them all into the town’s only bar, the Big Horn Saloon, and shut the door behind them. There, they huddled in the doorway together for several long minutes in shock. The Legion was known for their brutality but this massacre just seemed... efficient and thorough. They stayed frozen like that even longer than their astonishment, though, because - _crunch_ \- every single bottle and glass in the bar had been smashed all across on the carpet, now so bright with glittering snow one step could ruin a pair of boots faster than fiberglass in a pair of socks. The soaked furniture smelled sour from spilled alcohol. Still, they agreed, it was a little better than the nauseating alternative outside.

 

In her armored feet, Veronica crept across the winter horrorland and checked the back. Behind the bar was a narrow, securely-locked door hiding the town’s emergency supplies, or in other words, one solid punch and nothing, respectively. The entire secret room was charred and hacked as though by a flaming axe. The Romans left nothing behind.

 

Six looked at her friends. “What do you think we should do?” she asked.

 

Veronica looked over her shoulder at the door between them and carnage. “There was at least one _centuriae_ of soldiers who all left marching towards the city. We can't fight that.”

 

Arcade looked through the wall towards New Vegas. “We could circle around to the north and climb onto the raised monorail track. We wouldn’t have to go inside but we could get close enough to see what’s happening inside the walls.”

 

Cassidy looked pale and poured them each a shot from her bottle. “Maybe we should give up. The Legion is long gone and everything is fucked. Nothing we do matters anymore.”

 

“Okay, it's bad but let's not completely give up. Sure, the four of us can’t do jack shit without information and there’s no way in hell we’re going near a rampaging army that hates us,” said Six, shooting the rest of her whiskey. “There’s nothing else to do now but run north.” 

 

They drank and listened to the silent radio. Six realized that the last time she and her friends had had a drink together was Goodsprings, on Trudy’s porch. It wasn’t more than a handful of days ago but it felt like a story from another time. She remembered how it had felt so hopeful. Doc had given her vitamins. Boone had smiled to see her... Vulpes had almost stayed.

 

But that was before the midnight run to Nipton. Before her shameful betrayal in the Morgue. Before Lanius had proposed marriage. Boone was gone now. So were the others; Raul, Jerry, and Lily. One by one, they’d all gone away.

 

How could this trip turn out so differently from what they’d expected?

 

xXx

 

In this way, Team New Vegas traveled up the coast of the Colorado River. They crawled back and forth across the foothills, avoiding geckos and scorpions hidden in the gullies. Six didn’t know whether it felt long because of the silence or if this was simply the longest stretch of desert that ever existed. All night, they crept through the dark.

 

Quite late, Cass spotted a campfire beside the road. Its orange light flickered off the aluminum siding of a dozen Airstreams. Veronica, after sneaking closer, reported that the camp contained five Roman soldiers, three asleep and two awake, across from a little fleet of boats on the bank down the slope. Arcade cautioned that there might be more men in the trailers.

 

It was good advice but they needn’t have worried for once they’d made a quick plan and carefully surrounded the squad, the resulting fight only ended up taking about seven seconds. Cass’s rifle made quick work of the sleeping soldiers, while Veronica neatly crushed one of the guards’ head leaving one disoriented scout to stumble to his feet.

 

“Keep the last one alive!” cried Six, checking the bullets in her revolver. She and Arcade raced up the split-log stairs some ancient park ranger had built and holstered their weapons without having used them.

 

In the middle of camp, Veronica gripped the last man’s shoulder and forced him to his knees, groaning in pain. Cass rested her gun barrel on his shoulder, aimed at his neck.

 

"Good evening, soldarius. Fancy seeing you on my road," said Six.

 

"Won't be yours for much longer," he slurred, showing missing teeth. In truth, they weren't missing, they were lodged in Veronica's fist.

 

"Is that so?" Courier Six re-drew her revolver and loosely pointed at the ground. “What happened in Boulder City?”

 

“Don’t tell me you haven’t heard, Courier?” he sneered. “Inculta would be so disappointed to know you weren’t faithfully following his work.” He laughed at his own impudence. Cass bashed his temple with her barrel so he had to wince and groan.

 

“Call me a stickler but I prefer to do my research using primary sources,” Six said. “Feel free to add as much detail as you like but either way, it’s time to start talking.”

 

Considering the level of stress she had recently come to bear, Six held her temper quite well as the soldier described how Praefectus Inculta had ordered his Frumentarii to make almost fifty light, single-man boats from cactus, plaster, or wood. In the dark of the night, they floated unseen across the Colorado with their pouches bursting full of dry explosives and landed on the Nevada side of the Dam. The Frumentarii then ambushed and slaughtered every NCR soldier stationed there, pinning them flat-footed against the backsides of their own defenses, and dumped the bodies down the intake towers until the water rushing from the reservoir turned red. When they overturned the barricade for Lanius’ Phalanx - 300 Legionaries strong - however...

 

“Lanius marched on New Vegas!?”

 

“Woah, Six… hold on.”

 

She blinked and realized that her thumb had already half-cocked the revolver she pointed at their hostage’s plexiglass faceplate.

 

She took a deep breath, said, “Excuse me. I just wanted to clarify", and pointed her barrel at the ground once more.

 

“Yes, they’re both on the way to McCarran right now,” said the soldier, “Lanius and Inculta. They're going to tear the place apart and seal up New Vegas until it surrenders. The way they’re going, Caesar must have told them winner gets Arizona! I bet the loser gets Six, Ha!”

 

“Cassidy, be a dear and remove his helmet,” said Six.

 

“No, please, allow me,” said Veronica and leaned down and ripped off the soldier’s headgear. His sweaty, pale brown hair clung to his forehead.

 

“I have only a few further questions before my examination is finished if you'll bear with me," said Six now looking directly into his wide, restless eyes. "What were you and all your little friends doing out here if your beloved lord and master is way over there?” 

 

He blinked several times and licked his lips. “Special mission, reconnaissance to the north. Lord Inculta trusted us--”

 

“Bullshit,” said Six. “Looks more like your dead squad was a bunch cowardly deserters to me.”

 

“Shut your filthy whore mouth!” he snarled, lunging in Veronica’s grasp without breaking free. She slammed him back down on his knees so hard everyone heard a _crunch_ of bone.

 

“Methinks the gentlemen protests too much,” said Arcade. His eyes were hard. 

 

“Me, too,” said Six. “One more chance, you lucky dog. Why are you back here with the boats instead of doing your fucking job at McCarran?”

 

He spat blood into her face and laughed. “You’ll hear _all_ about it on the radio!” he cried, shrieking loud enough to wake every lakelurk for miles. “Loud and clear, Courier! Ha ha ha!!”

 

Her revolver swung to point between his eyes and Six pulled the trigger.

 

xXx

 

About an hour ago, Veronica used the radio to contact the Boomers. For the first time that day, they heard another person's voice.

 

"Come in hot," said the Boomer in the control hut. "Landing strip's prepped for you."

 

While Six admits that it _is_ convenient not to sprint down the firing range waving their arms and she also sincerely hopes not to be shelled into oblivion after _all that effort..._ at the same time, a cold ball of iron builds in her stomach with each step closer to the safety of Nellis. When her hands, and her feet, and her tongue all feel heavy with painful certainty and exhaustion, even the pluckiest adventurer might wonder whether the short embrace of a rocket would be easier to bear than any more walking. Perhaps that’s why Six doesn’t feel relieved when at long last they trot through the gate: the long hours of silent wondering are nearly over and here, her heart is still numb.

  

“What’s the situation outside?” asks Raquel when they step inside the gate. No one gives them even a cursory inspection before the spotlights swivel away to resume their careful watch of the rocky foothills beyond the fence. The captain is fully suited for battle with her long dark hair securely tied under a combat helmet, free from snagging on her shoulder weapon’s mechanics. A spray-painted image of a nuclear explosion contained inside a neon sunset motel sign decorates the barrel of her weapon.

 

"It's not great," says Six. "V can give you a better report than I can."

 

“This morning, there was a radio broadcast from Boulder City that gave us reason to believe the Legion was about to kill everyone in the city. That would have been around… 08:00,” says Veronica, crisply. “We’ve been out of radio contact since there was a power failure in the entire city of Vegas around 12:00 so the situation has undoubtedly developed further."

 

"Our suspicions about Boulder City were confirmed..." Arcade continues but Six tunes out.

 

It’s 3:00 in the goddamn morning according to her Pip-Boy. Was that a longer run than Primm to Nipton and they somehow _didn’t_ use any drugs? She couldn’t remember long stretches of it, she supposed; it all blurred together after a while. Six tries to make out whether any light from New Vegas can be seen through the gap in the hills. It's much too far away, of course. Her neck feels tired from checking all the same.

 

“Mother Pearl is here,” says another Boomer, bringing her back to the present.

 

“Looks your ride came, too,” says Raquel.

 

A golf cart rolls to a stop next to Six driven by a young man in a plain leather jacket. In the front sits an elderly woman with short white hair. She grasps a cane in one hand and the railing in the other which causes her ancient leather jacket to billow around her.

 

"You've arrived, outsider," she says. It's shocking how thin her voice sounds. "We've been waiting."

 

"I'm sorry, Mother Pearl," Six answers, offering the old woman her arm. "It's been a really, really long walk."

 

She’s a small woman, like Six, and libel to be jostled out of the cart by sharp turns, so they take the time to transfer her to the back seat where she can be snug between Arcade and Cass. Unwilling to subject the little vehicle to her weight, Veronica chooses to store her Power Armor in the Machine Shop and meet them right after.

 

When Pearl is settled, Six takes shotgun of the deathtrap. She slides in, spots the driver, and smiles. “Heya, Jack! How’s it been? Haven't heard from you since that rager of a honeymoon. The Garrets were cleaning up glass forever, Jesus.”

 

“Up until now, it’s been pretty heckin' good, Courier! Loyal keeps me plenty busy. Janet's great, by the way,” says the handsome young man with a wink. He shakes his honey-blonde hair out of his eyes and turns the key in the ignition. “I’m awful glad you showed up, though,” he goes on, glancing at her with a cloudy expression. “I think today makes up for all the others.”

 

“I think I might agree, Jack.”

 

With a whirr of electricity, the golf cart speeds away.

 

Nellis is bigger than it used to be, Six knew that already, but as with so many things on this unfortunate trip, the difference between a fact written on paper proves to be a vastly experience than seeing the truth with her own eyes. Many shining, new buildings sprout on either side of the main thoroughfare, filling in the gaps of a base-wide metallic smile. In addition, the base is overflowing with new faces of all sorts. Six, who used to be able to name every Boomer personally, can't keep up at all. The golf cart has to dodge a dozen young people all clustered together around a little cart selling hot drinks in tin cups, then waits for a real gasoline truck to tow a trailer of crates ALL the way down the middle of the lanes, until fifteen minutes later they can finally zig-zag their way to the two main buildings: Admin and the Machine Shop.

 

Much of communal Boomer daily life takes place in the Admin building. Primarily, the large metal warehouse consists of an industrial kitchen and spacious cafeteria making it a natural venue for things like birthdays and weddings. Of course, there are some offices walled off by movable curtains in the back so it's a comfortable setting for bureaucratic work, if sometimes a bit public.

 

The truly impressive building is the Machine Shop, home of the second largest collection of pre-War technology in Nevada. The Boomers are famous for their aeronautical technology and Six admires them not only for their ambition to recapture the skies but also the collective hardworking dedication that made it possible. A beautifully restored B-29, an unheard of gem in this day, stands as the magnum opus of the man who orchestrated its retrieval, Loyal. The head mechanic's expertise is evidenced not only by the fabulous treasures in his workshop but also by the devotion of his supportive team. Jack and the others endlessly polish exteriors, wash windows, tighten and loosen every kind of nut and bolt known to mankind, and make 3,000 cups of coffee a day just to run the ship just as efficiently as when Loyal could work an 8-hour day alongside them.

 

Just as Six is expecting the golf cart to slow, Jack steps on the pedal and scoots on by the warehouses.

 

They motor on over to the wooden longhouses to the east, the original pre-War military housing. Pearl’s home is among them, plain and square with a desert beige roof like all the others, but when they get close, it's clear that everyone knows whose house is most important. Dozens of people are gathered along the little gravel row outside Number 16, clustered in murmuring groups on porches and curbs. Jack drives the gold cart through them, beating its tiny horn to encourage the others to shuffle apart just enough to let him drive right up to the stairs. He parks and leaps out to help Pearl.

 

Arcade has to get out the other side before Pearl can slide over, and Jack is already taking up half the stairs to let her lean on him, so Six has a moment to wait. She hops out of the cart and stretches her stiff shoulders to ease their ache. Since she appears available, she fully expects to be peppered with questions at any moment but no Boomers step forward, shyly wringing their hands. Neither do they avoid her eye, she notices. More than a few wave or nod without approaching. Loathe to reject a kindness when it appears, she accepts their tact and goes inside.

 

Pearl’s home is already occupied by several people, many of whom quickly come forward to help their beloved leader settle into an old wingback chair. An old holotape player quietly whistles some pre-War jazz in the corner but there is little sound apart from that. The air feels thick. 

 

An old man in a heavily decorated leather jacket steps forward and offers his arm to Six. "How do ya now?"

 

"I've been better," she says, slipping her hand around his elbow. “Thank you, Loyal.”

 

Softly, he pats her fingers. “We instructed everyone on base to go on radio silence until you arrived, after which there would be new orders.” Loyal guides her to the far end of the longhouse with slow, even steps. His eyes are soft under a furrowed brow and it makes her feel grief that a face with so many lines of concern already would make a new one just for her. “Pearl and I thought you should hear this first.”

 

“Okay,” she says, hoping that’s the right thing to say.

 

He nods and walks them past a lanky boy. Six waves at him, only intending to be polite, when he suddenly stands quite straight and she sees the familiar cheeky sparkle in his eye. “Hey, Pete! You’re so tall now, I hardly recognized you.”

 

“Thanks, Courier,” he says in a tremulous baritone. “They made me leader of the Lil’ Boomers, so I get to help make decisions and stuff now. Ma'am.”

 

“I knew you were going to do something cool the moment my back was turned,” says Six, clicking her teeth. “Next time send me a letter so we can have a party, okay?”

 

If possible, he stands even taller. “Yes, Courier. Thank you, Ma'am.”

 

Loyal delivers her to the back of the longhouse and finds himself a soft chair to hold his bones. Arcade and Dr. Argyll are there, leaning over a datapad and pointing to its screen with great focus and yet their heads jerk up right away when Loyal and Six approach. They pause their conversation and step back to make room.

 

"Doctors," she says with a hint of humor.

 

"Courier," they answer. 

 

With the bang of an ancient screen door, Jack and Veronica arrive both scrubbing grease and oil from their hands and talking in fits and starts about hydraulics.

 

Veronica’s hair looks too long. Someone should have cut it last week. Six should have offered.

 

Silent Cassidy, whiskey in hand, and Fragile Pearl in her velvet chair make eight and nine... Pete is lucky number ten... 

 

Raquel, the last to arrive, locks the front door. "It's time."

 

Six gulps the thick air. Though it fills her nose and mouth she can't get any of its nourishing oxygen to her heart, who is beating just as though it would starve. On Pearl's desk is a bright orange metal box attached to a microphone and a speaker. A little red light flashes on and off.

 

"Are you ready?" asks Argyll.

 

Courier Six can't speak. She nods instead.

 

He flips the switch and the red light stays lit.

 

 _“Citizens of New Vegas,"_  says a deep, rumbling voice.  _“I am Legate Lanius, Right Hand of Caesar and the Monster of the East. I believe you have been warned about me."_

 

Argyll turns up the radio and motions for quiet but there’s no need. The house is frozen.

 

_“This day, New Vegas tested her strength against the Strongest Arm of the Legion and found itself lacking, crushed pitifully into the dust by Mars' proud heel. The mighty Hoover Dam and the city of New Vegas belong now to Caesar's Legion. McCarran stands empty, a smoking husk of the false protection the NCR once offered. Every one of the arrogant, crawling servants of your so-called ‘Mojave United’ showed themselves to be the neglectful stewards you always feared. See how their mechanical pets, the unnatural Securitron lapdogs programmed by the greedy Robert House lie useless in the street without their masters. Courier Six and her presumptuous patsies hurled their hollow defiance into Caesar’s teeth, only to be bitten like poorly bred dogs and flee, whining, to the hills leaving you to fall in the hands of a more worthy shepherd; absent in your moment of despair. Weep for your city, New Vegas, for your Camelot, your shining beacon on a hill... is Dead. Long Live Caesar!”_

 

“No,” whispers Arcade. Veronica puts her arm around him while a roar of ecstatic Legionaries screams their bloody triumph through the tinny speaker.

 

_“As of this moment, every man, woman, and child inside the walls of New Vegas is the subject and property of Caesar. Be warned, heathens! Do not resist the will of Mars, or you shall be put to the torch like your unforgivably weak defenders before you. The Law of Rome is absolute: those who disobey the will of Caesar and try to flee shall be hung like dogs from the wall to be pecked to death by birds. Those who shield the condemned or try to rob Caesar of his divine right shall be hung alongside the animals they defended. If any person is found harboring the Mojave United Blasphemers, they and their families shall be crucified without hesitation. Mars will only be sated by the blood of his enemies. It is up to every man to choose how he earns it."_

 

 _“Now, Courier Six…”_ he says in a soft voice, deeply rich like a lion’s purr. All eyes snap to her. “ _Courier, your time as the alpha and omega of Nevada is over. I shouldn’t have to tell you that you, your Brotherhood outcast, your incomplete Follower, the disgraced Caravaneer, and the rest of your wretched company are anathema. Your lives are forfeit. But... you still have a chance to save your people and yourself. Honor our contract and I will honor you no matter how you choose to sell your people down the river. Come and show me what their lives are worth to you. Come... or they will all burn. Ave, true to Caesar_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the two-thirds of this chapter, I took a much softer, though ideally no less atmospheric change in narrative voice. My hope was to present the events as though with the ironic hindsight of a person who is grappling with the failure of everything they've worked for. I think it feels like a halfway step between the raw pain of the last chapter and the utter heartbreak at the end of this. Not only that but I happen to be a big Agatha Christie fan and her habit of packaging the multiple murders in a quirky, catchy way really appeals to me. Her technique always sounds like literary poetry, so I thought I'd package that collective negative spiral similarly. #fangirling #getonAC’screepylevelscrubs #AndThenThereWereNone #I thought I’d poop myself to death from terror
> 
> Long story short, what I was going for was not a relaxation of tension, per se, but hopefully a way of pulling it along differently in order to tease many questions regarding the characters’ emotional reactions without giving any clues as to their inner motivations. It should feel like watching a holotape through a smokescreen; you see enough to get the gist of what’s happening but never quite enough detail to be satisfied. I thought this was an appropriate way to symbolize how disconnected the team feels from one another after yesterday’s fight. Theoretically, a return to the usual narrative style should feel like a relief of tension more than the events at the beginning of the chapter. #Just Like Faulkner and his Torturous, Unending Angst #ISwearToJebusThisIsn’tAFaulknerThing #fuckin'hatethatguy #top10worstbooksI’veEVERread #the Sound and the Fury of my Foot up your pretentious Ass
> 
> TL;DR - If these past few chapters seem a little schizophrenic and disorienting, I promise it’s on purpose and not just a cheap gimmick. #liesandslander


	17. THE CHAPTER WHEREIN Pete Leads us All, the Night is Dark, and We are Far from Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Kings have been killed in a fight with Legion forces after weeks of mounting hostility. Witnesses report The King's last word was simply, "Don't."

Not one breath stirred the silence. In fact, there was one sound, the hum of dozens of tight mouths vibrating outside, yet it faded into the background just beyond their attention. Their fragile bubble separated the inside from it. The longhouse was as though a dusty blanket covered all of their heads.

 

Six stood there in her duster with the fingers of one hand curled softly against her lip. Her mouth worked minutely against her thumb while gazing at the back door, perhaps speaking to someone only just outside, just beyond the painted wooden barrier.

 

Veronica looked at Arcade and raised her eyebrows. He quickly ran a hand through his yellow hair, then turned to begin the first of several whispered conferences with the broad-shouldered doctor beside him, so she turned back to Six. “Honey?”

 

“V?” Veronica blinked. Her voice was so thin.

 

“Yes, Six. It’s me.”

 

“V,” Her lips pressed together long enough for a dry swallow. “We... we lost our home…”

 

“Oh, no…” Veronica wrapped both arms around her. “Oh Six, I know... We did. You’re right. We lost it, didn’t we?”

 

Six sobbed dryly once…

 

twice…

 

.  . . thrice...

 

...until her head dropped onto her friend’s shoulder. Slowly, her arms circled Veronica’s waist and the tall girl stroked her hair with one hand, murmuring softly. She began to sway in time with her low hum and Six closed her eyes.

 

“All right, everyone,” said Loyal, rising from his armchair. All heads turned to him “It’s time to get moving. New Vegans, I understand you have a plan in readiness?”

 

“Yes, sir!” said Arcade, stepping away from Dr. Argyll with a quick promise to continue later, “Pete, if you will? It’s time to open the Crate.”

 

It’s strange how an entire room of people could feel surprised to see the violently orange plastic barrel against the wall, and yet Arcade’s announcement was met with a gasp of alarm. It had always been there, labeled with black spray paint. Perhaps, like so many things, it passed beneath their notice until they needed it. Long-Legged Pete took two steps to cross the entire longhouse and undo the latches.

 

The Crate opened with a creak. Pete pulled out several large, vacuum-packed, plastic bags and a white, three-ring binder, which he carried to Arcade at once.

Arcade thanked him, opened the binder, and readjusted his glasses. “Attention, please! There is a limited amount of time to act before all of our jobs get much, much harder. Everyone, please refer to your evacuation plans -- What’s that? Yes, Pete, go ahead and hand those out, too -- and turn to the section labeled ‘evacuation’--”

 

BANG!

 

“Evacuate??” cried Six, leaping out of Veronica’s arms. “No! How could we? There’s still so much more we can do. Let’s follow Arcade’s suggestion and, and maybe we can go closer and get more Intel! Yes, it’s not too far… there are definitely people on the outskirts who need--”

 

“Stop,” said a voice. Cass had looked up from her corner. For once, her eyes were the least glassy pair in the room. She stared at Six and flicked her glass with a fingernail. dink. dink. dink.

 

“But, Cass, it’s not time to give up, yet!” said Six. Her cheeks grew blotchier by the moment, patchy with red and tan. “This… this is where we find a new strategy… y’know, come at the problem from a different angle. So first, we get on the radio and try the city frequencies and then we...”

 

“No, Six. It is.” She tilted back her hat and scratched an itch near her temple. “See, every time one of your schemes doesn’t work out you have this habit of moving the goalposts. It’s cute. Ambitious, even. Remember the Gomorrah hooker and her boyfriend? V, you remember what happened, how we had to shoot everyone in the big guy’s office? It was a nightmare. Long story short, Six, it’s nice how you’re always challenging yourself to new heights and shit but in real life, there has to be an end to it. Like, really.”

 

Six shook her head, then slowly turned and looked at the others. Loyal. Pearl. Raquel. Jack. Pete. Dr. Argyll. Arcade… Veronica. They didn’t nod; they didn’t have to. Their faces spoke their mind quite clearly.

 

“Here’s the real sitch, Six,” said Cass. “Your boyfriend just conquered the fuck out of your city, which means he has all the nifty stuff in the Lucky 38: maps, money, codes to vaults, lots and lots of messages from the NCR, everything. We’re out-resourced, outgunned, and shit out of luck.”

 

“That’s… an accurate summary, actually. Thank you for being on top of the situation,” said Arcade. Cass raised her fist in the air and her flask to her lips. “Everything she said is true and more. New Vegas, and therefore Nevada, is completely compromised.”

 

V rustles at her shoulder. “I know it hurts to hear, but this is an outcome we’ve been preparing for. It’s over.”

 

“There is no shame in a strategic retreat that saves lives, Courier.”

 

Six looked at Loyal. Tonight, he rose taller than he had in ten years. With a steady hand, he gestured to the desk behind her. She turned towards the HAM and saw that someone had plugged a microphone into the orange metal box.

 

“Everything is ready.”

 

They were all refugees now. The people of the Mojave United were about to become like so many pebbles along a vast beach, little chips of a mighty boulder fated to be scattered and scraped by millennia of rough waves. Everything was about to change, but Veronica and Arcade’s precious gift to her, she realized, was all the security blanket she needed to weather the coming storm.

 

Courier Six took off her duster and handed it to Veronica with whispered thanks. Then, she smoothed her sand-stiff hair, sat at the desk, and began to write on an old piece of notebook paper. Beside her, Jack put on a pair of over-the-ear headphones and pulled up a chair to read levels on the box while consulting a laminated card. Six scratched out some words, added a few others, and after a few minutes rewrote the entire thing on a new piece of paper. When he’d completed the instructions on the card, Jack murmured some numbers, then patted her shoulder.

 

He gave her a thumbs up, so she signed her name and put down her pencil.

 

When she looked up, she didn’t see the orange microphone or the clapboard wall beyond. She saw a bar mirror reflecting the faces of Goodsprings in Trudy’s saloon. She saw Nipton farmers packed into Town Hall on all the chairs in all the neighbors’ chairs and Ruby and Johnson Nash in the Vikki & Vance. It was every King in Freeside on a borrowed couch. It was the Khans in their Gers who got what they wanted… and the ones who didn’t. They were all listening.

  
“Good evening, Nevada. This is Courier Six. Friends, it is my unfortunate duty to bring the news to you that earlier today, the city of New Vegas fell to Legion control. At this time, the banner of Caesar flies over the Lucky 38. Undoubtedly many of you witnessed it yourselves earlier today or heard the gruesome reports from Boulder City and hoped, like I did, that the rumors were not true. I’m sorry. To the people inside the walls: the window of opportunity for your escape is closing fast so there is no time to waste. Your priority is to get out. Sneak out the gate, climb the walls, scurry through the sewers; it doesn’t matter. The highest Legion priority will be to find and execute potential insurgents -- in this case my team, my allies, and myself -- and he will suffer no attack of conscience in sacrificing newly acquired slaves to draw us out. 

 

“Please be aware that our friends in red don’t have a lot of room for nonsense these days. Use their impatience to your advantage according to your best judgment and be prepared to do whatever it takes to survive. I believe we can all agree that our collective options just became markedly limited and we will not shame ourselves for the hard choices we are about to make. The penalty is most often execution. On sight, if you’re lucky. On a cross, if you’re not. If it is too late to escape, then for your own safety I urge you not to obstruct their search in any way. We are not in the city and Caesar hates when his time is wasted.

 

“For those who remain, I have less pleasant news. It is… unlikely that the NCR will come to our rescue. Whatever goodwill our nations once shared ended when President Kimball recalled his people and left us to our fate. Our calls have gone unanswered, and the result at Hoover Dam is clear. If you and your loved ones share any connection to someone in the NCR, no matter how tenuous the relationship, please use it to cross the border as quickly as you can. You are to secure your safety by any means necessary. Good speed and good luck to you.

 

“It is an injustice that we have no time to grieve. We have no time to grieve for burned homes, broken promises, or buried friends. Right here, inside the crushing fist of Caesar, it is surely an injustice that we have no time for anything than to escape the hobnailed feet of their captors and perhaps the greatest tragedy of is the injustice that no one - no one - has time to grieve for the people whose only sin was being in the Legion’s path.

 

“As the Jews fled the Night of Silence, you must pack lightly and offer not a cry of mourning, but a prayer of gratitude… gratitude for the help you are about to receive. Brave volunteers will be ready to help you all along the way, so please follow their advice and the advice of your leaders. Bring only what you can carry across the mountains. When you travel, please be careful and stick to the foothills. This is especially crucial for anyone traveling close to the Colorado or along the southern highway; you must assume that is now Legion territory. They are using boats to patrol the banks. Follow the routes indicated on your maps and avoid the city at all costs. If we use common sense and teamwork, every group will direct themselves in an orderly and efficient manner to the 15 North and through the pass to Zion. We believe in you.

 

“And... to those of who might be wondering whether I will lead the people of Nevada to Zion… I think Caesar has been clear enough regarding what he thinks of me. Traveling with you all would be to put you all at risk, which I cannot do in good conscience. I and my -- _heh_ \-- blasphemous friends will travel a different direction, to elsewhere. So... this is goodbye.

 

“We built our dream on the principles of open hands, open words, and open hearts. Ours is still a dream worth fighting for but now it must be like a little candle in your hearts, only strong enough to shine in the very darkest caves of your mind. Even now, we scatter ourselves far and wide in the hope that one day, we will shine like a galaxy of dreams. I can’t wait to see it. Thank you for helping to make our little Mojave Valley into a home. Goodbye, my friends and good luck.”

 

Six stood and slowly looked at Jack. “Did you get that?”

 

“Yeah. We’ll put it through the scrambler and send it out.”

 

“Thanks.” Six rolled her shoulders and looked around. With a nod, she pulled a hair tie from her pocket and bunched her wild hair into a bun. “Come on, everyone. We have a lot of work to do.” 

 

xXx

 

 

After the Emergency Team distributed the vital jobs, Six chose to work in Administration. There, she assisted two young women as they stored every single file, office supply, terminal, and coffee mug into crisp white boxes. These boxes, packed into weather-resistant pallets, would be driven north into the hills where an abandoned bunker waited to protect all the Boomer’s valuables. One girl, Lexie, wrote their contents on the outside with a marker while the other, Naiomi, stacked them and folded new boxes. Every now and again, they would take a stretch break while someone in a little lift carried away the next set, then she would turn to a new filing cabinet and continue filling. It was good, mind-numbing work.

 

The next time Six looked up, it wasn’t the lift but a dozen people all at once, mostly children of varying ages and Mother Pearl. The youngest looked a handful of days away from losing their childish roundness. He sucked his thumb and held hands with another child only an inch taller, her hair in braids. Every child wore a backpack but three of the oldest also wore a bullet on their tags and carried rifles over their shoulders.

“The children wanted to say goodbye before we got in the truck,” said Pearl, leaning on the arm of a tall, wiry girl with braided hair.

Six had already left her box and given the horde of youth her full attention. Pearl didn’t mind. “I understand you’re called the Lil’ Boomers?” asked Six in her brassiest voice. This voice rang somewhat in the metal building, making even the young women behind her stop their packing to listen when Six remembered the last time she’d used this manner of address: the Speech. That day, it had masked the uncontrollable shaking of her voice from the ice water of fear in her veins.

“Yes, Courier!” answered the children together.

She nods crisply. “I guess you’re going on a long trip now. Captain, give me your report before you go.”

“Raquel said we have to leave right away,” said one of the large lads with his marksman bullet. A second later, he remembered to stand at attention and saluted with two fingers at his brow. His voice was shockingly high, still unbroken, but Six returned his late salute as though nothing strange had occurred. “We’re going to stay off the roads and go slow so they don’t hear the engine.”

“You’re exactly right, Yair. It sounds like you’ve been studying your binder,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am. Scoutmaster Pete made us.”

The littlest Boomer began to cry, rubbing his pink cheeks with a sticky hand. It looked very messy but Six knelt with open arms and right away the little Lil’ Boomer crawled onto her lap to rest his shining face right against her bare neck. She wrapped one arm around him and resumed her former, authoritative stance.

“Ok let’s do a check. Has everyone inspected each other’s backpacks?”

“Yes, ma’am!” twelve children chime.

“Did you put the big blue crate in the truck and belt it down?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“Okay, last one: where is everyone going?”

“Zion!”

Six couldn’t see. Her vision was swimming too badly. “I’m so proud of you,” she said, hiding her breaking voice in the boomy, diplomatic broadcast, “You’re going to do great. Big hug time!”

Every single child piled around her and squeezed their arms into a giant tangle. A high-pitched shriek of laughter burst forth and when the enormous embrace fell apart, the little boy emerged, all smiles. He scooted back to his original hand-holding partner and waved bye-bye.

“I guess that’s it,” said Six to Mother Pearl, returning Emelio’s wave.

“You’ve done such a good job with them.”

“I didn’t do anything special.”

“Bullpuckey,” said the old woman, spitting on the concrete floor. “They loaded everything up because of you. Everything that’s happening right now is because of you.”

“Pete and Diego loaded everything up, more like. I just wrote some fancy words.”

“Youngster, don’t be so hard on yourself.” Pearl smiled and grasped Six’s hand. Her fingers were freezing. “So, you’ll be okay? You and those crazy outsiders of yours?”

“Of course. Good luck, old friend.”

 

“Who’re you calling ‘old’, friend?” Mother Pearl and Courier Six embraced lightly, then the evacuees left. When the door closed behind them, Six turned away and sat on her stool once more to finish packing the box.

 

xXx

 

Six leaned back in a wheeled office chair, easing her back. She found relief by leaning just like that and staring at the high, curved ceiling with her arms spread wide like an eagle. Her spine crackled deliciously. She had just decided that her next round of tear-down would involve standing when the door creaked open.

 

“Are you there, Six?”

“Come in, Arcade. I’m just stretching, nothing important.”

His soft leather shoes tapped on the smooth concrete floor. The echoes overlapped in different directions.

“Well,” he said, “the clinic is all packed and gone. We divided it such that every group yet to come has a resupply significant enough to stabilize two or three critical patients. Who knows what their condition will be when they arrive.”

Six rolled her shoulders until they cracked. “It’s interesting that you staggered what time each wave leaves.”

“Yes, I’m glad you think so! The idea was to create enough small, scattered targets that a centralized military like the Legion or the NCR would never have the resources to catch every group. One or two captures is still statistically viable, though, so we divided the supplies, too.”

“... I see your logic.”

Arcade hesitated, then looked away when he spoke next. “Several squads of Legion attacked Nellis before we got here.” Six sat forward again. He stood near the desk she occupied but kept his hands stiffly in his pockets. “Not every patient was a viable candidate for evacuation.“ 

 

Six spotted his knuckles, stained with flaking red, and considered what kinds of choices he’d made today before dropping her gaze. Something different covered the tips of his shoes: sand and black powder.

“I’m sorry this isn’t what you thought you’d be doing,” said Six, rolling her wrists. “I know you wanted to learn the local tribal medicine for your research and be the savior of the sick this past, oh, two years. I… guess we got a little sidetracked.”

He laugh-coughed into his fist and said, “That’s certainly one way to phrase it!” 

“What, you don’t think so? It sure isn’t that we didn’t learn a lot along the way, it’s just that none of it was--”

“--was what we thought it would be? Ha! You can say _that_  again.”

“Yeah...”

“Wanna help me file papers?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

She and Arcade chatted while they worked through the afternoon, occasionally stopping to hug another friend or two on their way out. Someone left sandwiches and bottles of water at some point. Later, Naiomi and Lexie left with a Boomer in a helmet. Six shook their hands.

Once, when her back hurt from hunching for so long, Six and Arcade walked around the building once. The streets, so full of people and equipment before, look flat and empty. The houses beyond are mostly dark. Wasn’t Nellis huge now? What happened to those enormous crowds at the gates this morning, the ones numerous enough to fill the shiny new barracks? How few would remain at nightfall?

Arcade looked at his watch. “Administration is scheduled to be close in an hour. We need to finish up.”

“Ok.”

They returned inside to work but instead of hearing the metal door _bang_ shut behind them, a boot tapped on the concrete floor. Cass was there, holding the door open with one hand. Grey and black fingerprints smudged wrinkled pink gingham. Her watery eyes were as red as her hair.

“That’s the last of the munitions gone,” she said, adjusting her hat. “They’re gonna seal the cave with TNT, they said.”

“That’s a relief,” said Arcade. “Good job, Cassidy.”

“Thanks.” Cass sniffed and let the door close behind her. 

 

Together, they walked into the main warehouse to the two remaining desks. Arcade and Six returned to work, sealing and labeling a finished box before opening another. Cassidy, it seemed, had a harder time settling in. She fidgeted in the office chair, turning this way and that, then she stood and tried to lean on the desk instead. Her nimble fingers grasped at her flask, then hesitated and opened the bottle instead before aimlessly swirling the dark liquid around and around.

“What’s on your mind, Clementine?” said Six, teasing a few old reels back into their cases. A quick look at Cass revealed her pale, frowning face.

Slowly, she re-corked her bottle and set it down. “Just thinking. It’s really unfair how one minute, you know what’s going on and the next… it’s all changed. I’ve been complaining about the shit hours for ages and now I have nothing to do, I’d rather go back to how it just was.”

Arcade laughed, and both women looked at him. “I guess it goes to show the only thing you can count on is… change.”

Six grinned back, “The best-laid plans of mice and men, eh?”

He whipped his head around fast enough to almost send his glasses flying. “You read the book I gave you! Raul said he thought you’d _lost_ it.”

“I didn’t tell you I’d read it because I thought you’d make me read _more_ depressing Steinbeck shit! Pick something better next time.”

All three burst out laughing until the warehouse rang. Cass slapped Arcade’s back, Six wiped her eyes, and finally, they smiled at one another.

 

“I’m starving,” said the Rose of Sharon. “I’ll go see what we have left in the kitchen.” Then she walked away, whistling and sipping from her whiskey bottle once more.

 

A little while later, Arcade and Six were just commenting on the delicious smell of sizzling Cram, when the metal door banged open once again. A tall, muscular woman with short, dark brown hair came in. She wore sturdy denim jeans, a dark blue t-shirt, and she carried a Boomer jacket over one shoulder so it wasn’t until the woman was three feet away that Six recognized her.

  
“Look at you, V! You look so _buff._ What did you do with your armor?”

 

Veronica grinned, blushing. “Oh, it’s just in the Machine Shop. Jack was overly concerned about the hydraulics in one knee, so he made me let him check it out. Do you like the new look?”

 

Both said they did and asked how the evacuation was progressing.

 

"We're coming to the end of coordinating," she answered, laying down the jacket and shoving her hands in her jeans. "Every settlement has checked in and received instructions. in fact... Six, this is for you." She pulled out a holotape and handed it over.

 

"What is this?"

 

Veronica takes a breath through her pointed nose. "Many of the comms people in the settlements asked for you. Loyal thought... he thought it might be difficult for you to say so many goodbyes all day long, so he suggested they leave a recording for you to listen to when you're ready. This is it."

 

The last words of her people. Six enfolded it in both hands. "Thank you."

 

"It's time to lock up!" called Arcade, closing a filing cabinet.

 

Cassidy banged the chili pot with her spoon. "Someone go get the people in the Machine Shop, we're eating on the roof tonight!"

 

"All right!"

 

xXx

 

“So lemme get this straight,” says Arcade, two shots past using commas correctly, “When you prepared for the end of the world you packed enough booze to light it on fire too?”

 

“This guy gets it,” says Jack. The surrounding roof is littered with empty cans.

“Mm-hmm,” agrees his wife, clinking her can against his, then taking a large swig.

Cass sits on a metal box across the circle from him while Janet and Jack sit on the floor between them, leaning together against a faded ottoman. On the other side, Arcade and Veronica are taking it in turns to pour alcohol and cook several lopsided s’mores on an old electric grill. Cassidy’s Cowboy Chili was a big success. The scraped pot sits off to one side.

“When are you guys getting out of here?” says Veronica suddenly to the lovebirds holding hands on top of the ottoman. They jump and resettle how they’re sitting. 

“Oh, tomorrow,” says Janet, recovering first. “The only evacuants coming this way are a couple of houses just north of Lake Mead. They should be here bright and early after we finish  _ locking up. _ ”

“I’ll lock you up, babe.”

“Stop it!” she giggles.

Cass grins and prolongs the conversation. “Do you have much left to help Loyal with, now?”

Jack throws an arm around his wife’s shoulders and answers in a casual drawl. “Not really, no. He’s staying with us until tomorrow, so then we’ll have to close down the hangar, take the motors out of props… stuff like that. He really wants to spend the night alone with his plane.”

Unlike the young mechanic, in the morning the old mechanic wouldn’t be able to take the love of his life with him. Six slips into thought, though she hears her friends continue to tease Jack and Janet, who pretend not to understand why they are being prevented from leaving. Janet’s giggles become higher and higher with each, successive question.

“Ok, ok,” she says much too quickly after ten minutes of this, “wereallyhavetogonow…”

“We’ve got a long day ahead of us, so we’ll see you in the morning, eh?”

“Make sure to lock your door!” Cass calls to their retreating backs.

They laughed and disappear over the edge of the solar building, trying to get down at the same time, then both waiting, then both eventually descending. The ladder clangs for a minute, then almost immediately after they hear the kind of moans that make Arcade blush bright red. 

“They’re going to go have that  _ end of the world _ sex,” says Cass, pointedly turning up the radio.

“Good for them. I think they’ll make something out of their next step,” said V, stretching her aching muscles. “Maybe Zion will need a lot of pilots.”

“Either way,” Six says, swigging another shot, “It’s really not that hard to start from scratch. I crawled out of the ground with nothing! Just a vault suit, a 10mm, and a…”

“...thirst for vengeance!” said Veronica.

“...hunger for brains!” laughs Cass.

“...ace-crazy disregard for the sanctity of life,” groans Arcade.

“Charisma out the Ass!”

“Raging Alcoholism!”

“An itch that can’t be scratched!’

“Um… um… ooh! Subpar marksmanship!”

“Nice one, V.”

“Yeah, way to be.”

Six sits and watches the lantern for a long while not think about too much, just quietly finishing her drink. It’s warm enough to still hear crickets singing across the desert.

“We’re going to leave tomorrow at first light,” she says. “We’ll follow the river north, cross it, and then head east, way outside of Arizona. If we get caught by the river, we’ll use the Boomer’s names and cover their escape. After that… we’ll see. It’s late, now.”

Cass, not too much later, falls asleep with her hat pulled low over her face. It feels late. Arcade and Veronica leave together to go check on Loyal in the other hangar and it becomes very quiet indeed.

It’s damn near midnight when Six rises and puts on her coat. No one rises to acknowledge her, so she clasps her Pip-boy on her arm and tucks a few other things in her pockets, not much at all. A canteen… the piece of paper she wrote her speech upon… the holotape V brought her… the full syringe of Psycho. Everything else, she slides the rest of her things into her bedroll and lays the blanket just so on top, then tiptoes down the stairs of the solar building and types into the terminal there. A soft beep, the well-oiled door swings open, and she steps inside. 

All the shelves in the great electricity building stand empty. The stockpile of munitions which used to live here, of course, are now creeping north on twenty head of Brahmin so she passes many empty rooms before dashing lightly down the stairs past a dark, blackened generator and further to the lowest, concrete floor. Six glances at the fresh paint over what used to be an ant burrow, jogs to the extreme left corner of the powerhouse, and opens a door to a long round tunnel made of packed earth and stone. 

In only a moment, she is under and out, beyond the reach of the fence.

Six rests for a moment against a boulder to catch her breath. The night air is cool. A quiet breeze tastes like burned sand, which makes her think of the canteen in her pocket but there’s a long way to go now. She takes the extension from her Pip-boy and slots it gently into a discreet outlet hidden in the rocks.

 

With one more password, she locks it all behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Please consider commenting and subscribing for future updates.
> 
> Not a lot to say this chapter. Tumblr nonsense hit me hard.


	18. THE CHAPTER WHEREIN Six Plays Solitaire and the Past Folds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yeah, you don’t need to worry about us much, señora. Lily and I are going to help the peoples get along the south road before we do anything else, verdad? You care for you. Tejada, signing out for Novac.”

 

 

Long routes come with the territory. 

 

 

 

Even before the NCR, way back when, doing the whole courier gig was a joke. Delivering packages was low-wage, high-mortality work with a higher mortality rate than even Caravanning. It used to be standard to finish a three-city delivery in one weekend, then turn around and climb the tracks back to Vegas the next Monday. A customer who was looking for priority delivery could pay handsomely to get a package from Searchlight to Mt. Charleston and all it would cost is enough Buffout to tranquilize a Nightkin.

 

I mean, our Mojave Express wasn’t called ‘crackerjack’ service for nothing! Half of us were so strung out, most of the time we’d hardly touched our caps before it was all spent on needles and pills behind the bar. Tail, if we could get it. We were young. Our bodies could handle the pressure.

 

Until one by one… they couldn’t. I didn’t think I’d ever feel old but as of last week, I’m officially the most senior pony in the corral.

 

Jackrabbit’s funeral was the worst. _There_ was a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed fella who didn’t deserve to meet his end in a ‘scorpion’s nest for sleeping in the wrong gas station. His Ma covered his face in the casket and we drank so much tequila she could probably have swung a bulk deal on headstones.

 

I didn’t mean to start a revolution. I just didn’t think anyone should have to live like that.

 

… No one should have to die like that.

 

It’s almost a year since my last delivery but the old techniques came back quick enough. 15 minutes of running, 5 of walking. Stop every two hours to stretch and rehydrate. Play with the potholes in the road.  _I’ll pass the first one on the left, then the next two on the right. Okay, jump over the next three, then go backwards until you see a barrel cactus or fall in a ditch._  

 

What can I say? It gets me to my first break without a debilitating _paralysie de l’ennui._

 

Without looking down, I flip a switch on my Pip-Boy so I can scan the horizon for predator-shaped movement while it boots up. The plastic knob is worn where others have done the same, so I haven’t needed to look in ages plus it’s old tech, so I have time to roll and flex every part of my legs from toes to thighs before it’s ready for action. Then, I sit behind a rock to minimize visible light and check my map. 

 

My heart sinks. According to Pip, it will take all night to reach Boulder City plus a little more to reach the Dam itself which puts me in a bind. I _swear;_  it’s no coincidence that Caesar conquered Vegas only one day before my date with the Monster of the East. Or was it still a duel? Our last conversation had been bitterly interrupted by good intentions, so... where did that actually leave Lanius and I? First, he wanted to fight, now he wants to… fuck? Lanius had only spoken of ‘marriage,’ and somehow my gut told me we had vastly different ideas regarding the institution.

 

On the other hand, he’d called ahead on my favorite radio program to make sure I was still coming. Downright fuckin’ romantic, this one.

 

Either way, my Seven Minutes of Heaven was almost up and my knight in shining armor is waiting for his damsel or whatever, so I make a decision. I had hoped to save this process for later in the run but I’m going to get it out of the way now so I don’t have to try and find a vein in the freezing cold of 2:30 in the Mojave morning. I put away my running goggles and lay out… my coat.

 

My coat is old and faded. Its leather is scuffed and cracked. In another lifetime, I think it had a belt, but for all its musty smell and terrible color, I’ve never wanted another. I don’t take it to heart when my friends buy me clingy sweaters, leather halters, and army-surplus desert camo gear. I can’t imagine what they must think when I wear something out that cost a Mobster’s ransom of silk and cover it up with a muddy cowhide fashion nightmare. It’s ok, really. They don’t understand what we’ve been through.

 

In my left side pocket are food and water and in the right, medicine. I force down a piece of gecko jerky because I know better than to do a crackerjack on an empty stomach, then chase it with a handful of pinion nuts and a full canteen of water. To cover myself, I throw the wrapper under a flat rock and sweep a handful of sand over it. Just like my pack, that wrapper is something else I’ll leave behind. Like the book I was reading. And my perfectly soft pillow. A nearly full canister of coffee. A mason jar of disgusting green vitamins. The red dress.

 

I guess I’ll have worn it only once, after all.

 

I slap Tiger Balm on my knee and rub until the aloe juice freezes the tendons around my knee. The effervescence makes my eyes water. Stinging, stinging effervescence. That’s why it hurts. For sure.

 

In the inside right-hand pocket, I keep bumpers and other goodies. It’s the side you present when an overeager town Sheriff thinks he's gonna make your day a bureaucratic slog because, well, sometimes sharing a little chemical bounty can save a girl a few hours. Or, he shoots you in the side _opposite_  your heart and destroys the contraband to boot. Is it possible to have a win-win scenario wherein the victor still gets shot? 

 

Psycho shines in its syringe, even in this scarce moonlight. Something in it makes the violet liquid swirl with iridescence like baby Cazador wings in the sunlight. We used to collect the shed wings after they’d hatched and make them into window decorations as kids. They’d scatter light around the shack like old beer bottles hanging on a string; reds and oranges… pinks and yellows. By summer, the wings lose their color and it’s too hot to keep the windows open anymore, anyway.

 

I can’t look at the inside left pocket yet. There’s too much in it even though there’s one more thing left to go in. It’s just too full.

 

I pull out the holotape Veronica gave me. Loyal wrote ‘6’ on one side in Sharpie and I can see his hands in my mind, always covered in oil and grease. Somehow, he knew I’d need this very thing and Veronica was the girl to make it happen. I load their holotape into Pip and pull out the most old-school over-the-ear headphones still functioning in Nevada before prepping my syringe and what do you know? I slot the needle in a viable vein the first time! Arcade would be so proud of me.

 

When the Psycho is half gone, I pull the needle back out and blot the entry point without looking at the glowing track dissolve under my skin. I bury the cotton ball with the wrapper and recap the needle because I will need the rest of it later, without a doubt. Crackerjacks have to pace themselves.

 

Nobody wants to beat a dead horse, ha!

 

At last, I get moving and push play.

 

xXx

 

“ _I knew, ever since that danged metal man drug you outta the ground that you’d be off causin’ a ruckus big enough God’d hear it all the way upstairs. You take care and keep an eye on your packages, youngster. This was Johnson, signing off for Primm. Ruby? Say, Ruby? How do I turn off the da--”_

 

xXx

 

Ugh, Psycho gives me the sweats. I‘m swimming in a pool like it‘s Spring Break in Sotonoya. I‘m chafed all around the hips, crotch... thighs. Baby powder’s back in Nellis, too. Goddamn.

 

I roll my ankles and curse. My sensitive-ass eyes are so dilated even the stars feel too bright. They’re whirring along overhead, streaking the sky with migraine-inducing inconsistency, always flickering just one jump ahead.

 

‘By dawn’, he’d said. What would the dawn feel like then, the last of a free Nevada? What would the sun feel like in Arizona?

 

 

Would it have the same color?

 

xXx

 

“ _Six, thanks for all the help you gave us starting a new life. Paolo told me to tell you that we decided to put emergency flares in our crate. We’ll…  we‘ll never forget you. I am Laurie Argent, signing off for Nipton.”_

 

xXx

 

In my eyes, Boulder looks like it did before the Rangers’ last stand, before the Legion… before everything. Boulder’s main street was lit up with real street lights, with batteries that didn’t spark at your feet from the sidewalk. Tourists pointed refurbished pre-War cameras full of unmelted film at everything they passed. The bar was full of singing people.

 

Have you seen the Dam yet? Oh, everyone comes to see the Dam! Did you know it was the largest dam in America built by men? It survived the Great War, you know, hundreds and hundreds of years old! Larger dams would be built later, of course, but that was after the development of modern robotic technology. Follow me to see the turbine room and mind the dead bodies!

 

xXx

 

_Well, stranger, I reckon your road weren't_ _done with you yet. Now, don’t you worry none about us. Trudy and_ _them_ _already left and the Smiles’ and I’ll get on like we always have. And listen here, too… you be careful and mind that rooster of yours. Remember, if’n the rooster makes all the noise, then the hen rules the roost. This here was Doc Mitchell, signing off for Goodsprings._

 

 

xXx

 

It‘s true when they say that no one remembers the middle of a run. Hours must have flown by while Psycho drove me all over creation because the lights of Boulder come up too soon, way before I’m ready.

 

My feet pull up short; before the last ridge. It’s time to do something I’ve put off until now. You know, the last possible minute. 

 

Even though my hands feel like lead to do it, I reach up and unlatch my Pip-Boy.

 

It falls open with a little creak and slides out of the groove in my skin. It‘s been there so long, I almost can‘t remember what it felt like to have evenly weighted arms. I can feel and remember where we’d got every scratch and ding along the way. Even before Doc had given it to me, it’d felt heavy with knowledge and I’d felt compelled to add to its archive. Soon, it became my guide and my confidant all in one, mobile workstation. 

 

Even so… There‘s no way around this goodbye. The mountains and mountains of sensitive files we cleared out of Nellis are  _nothing_ compared to the encyclopedia of New Vegas secrets this baby contains. It‘s jam-packed with downloaded maps of Nevada‘s evacuation routes, a wealth of privately recorded conversations with various controversial figures, and even crucial codes that control the impressive Securitron army under Fortification Hill despite what small impact such a trump card had made.

 

Caesar can’t have it.

 

A rusty lead pipe poking out of a Boulder building caught my eye and next thing I knew, there it was in my hand, rusty and contaminated as all get out. 

 

I set Pip on a rock and heft the metal above my head wondering if maybe I should turn it off first like maybe that’s the tech version of a courtesy blindfold. Ludicrous. What would I even give Pip for a cigarette?

 

_SMASH!!_ The screen explodes into thousands of pieces.

 

_SMASH!!_  The hinge pops off and separates instantly, zinging in opposite directions probably miles away.

 

I unleash the fury of my arm over and over until it could never be put back together again and throw the iron bar far, far away from me.

 

Long routes come with the territory... and this one’s almost over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The preceding was meant to be the first half of a chapter along with the imminent chapter to complete the first Act of our story together. Then, I realized just how many plates were spinning in the air and decided the story would be served better by dividing my thoughts at this logical point rather than subjecting you to the goddamn Neverending Story, so here we are.
> 
> Before I post the final chapter, I am going to do one, last, large-scale edit and I won't change anything else in Act I after that, so the setpieces will be permanent. I promise. Wish me luck.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 18 is the penultimate chapter of Act 1 and as such, I am performing one last major, sweeping edit to the story. When Act II begins, I will NOT make any more changes to the first Act no matter how egregious the spelling errors I find, or face-palming errors in plot. This one has to *count*. Overall, I think you can expect big, medium, and small scale changes that don't really affect the trajectory of events, but might clean up some confusion.
> 
> This work has been one, long learning project for me. I have had to strap on my Big Author Boots and wade in the deep end. I can tell you that it's been equal parts fulfilling and frustrating on my end yet... I think the work is paying off. I deeply, sincerely appreciate every last reader who has toughed out this monstrosity and kept me going with your Kudos and Comments. 
> 
> Thank you!


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